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NOTES 



IN 



England and Italy. 



By MRS. HAWTHORNE. 



NEW YORK: 
G. P. PUTNAM & SON. 

London: SAMPSON LOW & CO. 
1870. 



X)G^ 



59 



.H 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1S69, 

Bx G. P. PUTNAM & SON, 

In the Clerk's office of the District Court of the United States for the 
Southern District of New Yorlc. 



Gift from 
the Estate Of Miss Ruth Putnam 
Ocl.6,lS31 



Stereotyped by Little, Rennik & Co., 
&i5 & 617 Broadway, New York, 



TO 



ELIZABETH P. PEABODY, 



2[l)i0 tJolume is iBchitaichi 



BT 



HER SISTER, 



S. H. 



PEEFAOE 



I THINK it necessary to say that these "Notes," 
written twelve years ago, were never meant for pub- 
lication ; but solely for my own reference, and for a 
means of recalling to my friends what had especially 
interested me abroad. Many of these friends have 
repeatedly urged me to print them, from a too par- 
tial estimate of their value ; and I have steadily 
resisted the suggestion, until now, when I reluctantly 
yield. If, however, they will aid any one in the 
least to enjoy, as I have enjoyed, the illustrious 
works of the Great Masters in Architecture, Sculp- 
ture, and Painting, I shall be well repaid for the 
pain it has cost me to appear before the public. 

S. H. 

Dresden, August, 1869. 



CONTENTS. 



ENGLAND. 

FAQB 

I. Skipton Castle. — Bolton Priory. — York Min- 
ster, 7 

II. Lincoln Cathedral, 31 

III. Old Boston and St. Botolph's, , . . .50 

IV. Peterboro Cathedral, . . . . . 69 
V. Newstead Abbey, 85 

VI. On the Way to Scotland, .... 106 



SCOTLAND. 

I. Burns' Region, 119 

II. Glasgow, 146 

III. Dumbarton, 156 

IV. Loch Lomond and the Bens, . . . 163 

V. Inversnaid and Loch Katrine and the 

Trosachs, 173 

VI. Bridge of Allan, 19c 



CONTENTS. 



ITALY. 

PAGE 

I. Roman Journal, . - 197 

II. Journey of eight days from Rome to Flor- 
ence, 295 

III. Florence, 2>3^ 

IV. Returning to Rome, 500 

V. Rome, 541 



NOTES IN ENGLAIsTD. 
I. 

SKIPTON CASTLE.— BOLTON PRIORY. 

Skepton, Yorkshire, April lOtli. 

* * * * As we approaclied Yorkshire, we found 
stone walls for the first time in England, instead of 
green hedges. But they were nice and pretty stone 
walls, and not such rude structures as ours in 
America. The stones were as smooth and even as 
those of a house, and battlemented along the top. 
After the low sandhills of Southport, it was truly 
refreshing to see the Yorkshire Wolds. (Wolds is 
the Yorkshire name for hills.) 

We saw some very ugly, small, manufacturing 
towns in Lancashire, in which I do not understand 
how any one can consent to Hve. In one was a 
monument that seemed to be erected to the honor 
of the Smoke-Demon, — a lofty, symmetrical stone 
column, resting on a square base, not near any 
manufactory ; and close against the sky a long 
plume of black smoke continually floated from its 
summit, like the incense of a bad heart. Dear me ! 
at what a cost come forth, so clean and splendid, all 
our pretty prints, and silks, and velvets ! How is it 
that the grimness of the workmen and of the atmos- 
phere never sullies them ? They look as if the tidiest 



8 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 

of fairies fasliioned them in ivory palaces, wLere 
there is never a stain in the air. 

We crossed the river Darwen twice, and arrived 
at Skipton soon after five. It proves a larger town 
than I thought, and is beautifully situated in a hol- 
low betw^een thrice three hills. We found a tolerably 
pretentious station, and a nice man, w^ho politely at- 
tended us to what he called " a 'Bus," which he said 
belonged to the first hotel in town, called " The 
Devonshire Arms." So hither we drove. It was 

what J considered " a jolly little 'Bus," being 

only as large as a cab, yet the seats arranged like 
those of omnibuses. The landlady, glorious in cherry 
ribbons, received us at the door, and ushered us up 
into a fi'ont sitting-room, comfortable with a lounge, 
and a large fireplace, in which the maid soon kin- 
dled a blazing fire. 

We were all so restored by our refection, that w^e 
concluded to take a walk. I asked the maid whether 
there were any pleasant places, and she said, " Skip- 
ton Woods is very pleasant, and not far off." So 
we went toward Skipton Woods ; but met a fine old 
castle on the way. A stout John Bull, with a rubi- 
cund visage, who was piously pushing his child 
about in a perambulator, on his leisure Good Fri- 
day, I took the liberty to accost. I asked him 
whether we could see the castle ; and he was very 
smiling and kind, and replied, " Yes ; as it was 
Good Friday, he thought we could : that the family 
was not there, but the housekeeper was." 



SKIPTON CASTLE. 9 

So we entered the grand, towered gateway, with 
"desokmais" sculptured in open stone-work on the 
top, flanked by a donjon-keep on each side, and 
found ourselves in a fine park, within the walls — 
a small park, perhaps a garden rather. A group of 
girls, keeping holiday, emerged from an arch, and I 
asked them where we could find the housekeeper. 
One said that I " must go into a door by the bushy 
trees." These " bushy trees" were mammoth box- 
trees, more than six feet high, and of great circum- 
ference, cut in the shape of globes. Lawn and 
flower-clumps, with gravel walks, filled the enclosure, 
and the perpetual ivy climbed the inner surface of 
the high walls. It looked very inhabitable, and not 
vast, like the environments of many castles we have 
seen, and, though stately, not a kingdom, as is 
Knowesly."^ We found a low-arched door, leading 
through the thickness of the castle, and out upon 
a staircase on the other side, high above a moat. 
Looking over, we saw a waterfall and a stream and 
clustering trees, far down beneath. But, alas ! this 
was not one of Nature's waterfalls, but what the 
housekeeper called *' a wash" only, which now turns 
a mill. The sound of rushing water, however, was 
just the same, and very refreshing. We ascended 
the staircase, and at my knock, a neat, florid, thin 
woman opened the door, and civilly acceded to my 
request to be shown the castle. The first room was 

* The Earl of Derby's domain. 



10 NOTES m ENGLAND. 

the housekeeper's Idtchen, as clean and bright as 
possible. Whatever speck of dust might have had 
the rashness to think of settling on any part of that 
immaculate kitchen, must at once have hidden its 
diminished head, after peeping in. It was scrubbed 
and whitewashed into snow. We followed the dame 
first into the dining-room. I ought to tell you, how- 
ever, that this castle was built in 1100, and for five 
hundred years was possessed by the Cliffords. It 
was erected, soon after the Norman Conquest, by 
Robert de Romeli, and was the birthplace of the 
celebrated Anne Clifford, Countess of Dorset, of 
Pembroke, and of Montgomery, the lady having 
married three earls successively with these titles. 
Cromwell battered it with his guns, when it was 
garrisoned for Charles I., and we saw the hill where 
he established these guns. The Countess's last de- 
scendant was the Earl of Thanet ; and the present 
possessor is Sir Richard Tufton, who represents the 
last earl. One portion only is made habitable. 
The dining-room was lighted at one end by a bow- 
window, set with small panes. It was hung with 
crimson and white, and had tables and sideboards 
of oak, and the ceiling was frescoed in arabesque 
patterns. From the dining-room we went up a 
broad staircase into the drawing-room. This was 
the size of the whole round tower. It was hung 
with gobeUn tapestry, worked by the ladies of the 
Clifford family. Over the fireplace was a portrait 
of Oliver Cromw€41, in early manhood, a much fairer 



SKIPTON CASTLE. 11 

and handsomer face of liim than I had seen be- 
fore. 

Two portraits of the renowned Countess, one in 
perfect womanhood and one in old age, also adorned 
the walls. Opposite the fireplace was a large family 
picture of the Duke of Cumberland and his Duchess 
and two sons. These were the father and mother 
and brothers of the famous Countess. The Duke 
was in armor, and just taking leave for a battle ; 
and his wife stands pointing to her children, as 
much as to say, " What will they do without their 
father ?" From the very broad windows of this 
drawing-room are beautiful views of the hills and 
country. From the drawing-room we ascended to 
the state bedchamber. This was quite in disarray. 
There were some tall folding-doors, leaning against 
the walls, which once adorned the dining-room, and 
upon them the Countess was again painted in full 
length ; and round her, in small size, hung her three 
husbands. Here also was a little child's portrait, in 
what looked to have been once a gorgeous dress, 
holding an apple in his hand. The housekeeper 
said that his lordship had choked himself to death 
with that apple ; and then she remarked, " He was 
not very wise !" and soon she added, " He was an 
idiot." These walls also were hung with gobelin 
tapestry, representing the various tortures of the 
Inquisition ! What a subject for art ! Crowds of 
monks and nuns were present, the monks and famil- 
iars administering the various tortures, and the 



13 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 

nuns looking on ! These tapestries Yv^ere wronglit 
by nuns. In this room stood a chair of state, a sort 
of throne once belonging to Mary, Queen of Scots, 
and so we sat down on it. It was superb once with 
richly gilded leather and crimson cloth. Two bed- 
steads, without furniture, stood on one side, and the 
housekeeper said they were memorable for some- 
thing, but she did not know what. No doubt some 
royal personages had occupied them aforetime. On 
the floor, against the wall, stood the portrait of a 
young girl, a sister of Cromwell. We do not know 
why Cromwell seems to prevail in the castle. Sir 
Kichard Tufton resides mostly in Paris, and is sel- 
dom here except for a few days at a time. Yf e then 
passed through another bedchamber, furnished as if 
it could be slept in, and with no legend to it ; and 
after a short sojourn again in the dining-room, we 
proceeded to the more ancient, or rather unmodern- 
ized, parts of the castle ; — to the guard-room, kitch- 
ens, apartments with no distinctive name, and to the 
vast judgment-hall, where now, once a year, the 
tenants dine. The fireplace is enormous, and along 
the entire length w^as a row of chandeliers to light 
the revellers. We crept up a naiTow, dark stairway 
to the roof of one tower, and had a splendid view of 
the whole country. Skipton is in quite a hollow — 
in an amphitheatre of high hills. From the battle- 
ments J stooped, and plucked a branch of a tall, 

old yew-tree (a bit of which I enclose). It is eight 
hundred years old. 



SKIPTON CASTLE. 13 

P. S. — It is noon of Saturday the lltli. We have 
just returned from Bolton Abbey, and are on the 
wing for York. We passed through an inner court 
of Skipton Castle, in the centre of which the great 
ancient yew-tree stands. By the side of it is a very 
old stone font. Over the pointed arched doors are 
the escutcheons of the Cliffords and of the Earl of 
Thanet, carved in stone. Green, damp moss covers 
the stones of the pavement and the old, old walls. 
One grander arched doorway opens from what was 
once the chief entrance, now closed up. We peeped 
down the dungeons, but did not descend into them. 
The castle is lower than any other I have seen, only 
three stories high ! 

So we returned to our hotel, and found a glorious 
fire, and an extraordinary bookcase of books ; for 
these books are choice. There is Pickering's beau- 
tiful edition of Spenser, a grand volume of all Scott's 
poems, including our long-sought Bridal of Trier- 
main ; many old standard English works, Sterne, 
etc. ; American novels too, " The Wide, Wide World," 
and " Queechy," ah me ! and every variety — science, 
poetry, romance, essays. Good-bye. 



14 NOTES m ENGLAND. 

Leeds, April lltb. 

My deak : 



We arrived at this unlovely town at three, 
and we have lunched and walked out a few moments, 
and we have seen a statue of Sir Robert Peel. 
Everything is grimy in Leeds, and poor Sir Eobert 
looks like a collier. We did not know which way to 
turn, nothing looking inviting, and so I thought I 
would write to you, sitting at a very big table, in a 
very big ladies' saloon. It was a pleasant country 
from Skipton to Leeds, through the valley of the 
Aire, a narrow river, which serpentines about so 
much that we crossed it five or six times. All 
around are high hills, one of them a picturesque 
crag, which I thought to be a castle, but found it 
was only a group of rocks called the Druids' Altar. 
No more time. 

York. — The Black-Swan Hotel — 8 o'clock, evening. 
Here we are, then, safe and comfortable in this old- 
est of cities — rather, this exceeding old city — this 
walled Eoman town, with its glorious Minster, and 
on the eve of Easter Sunday. We have had " the 
Queen's weather "'^" all the time, and the sun shone 
cheerfully as we drove beneath the great arch under 
the walls. But now I must go back to Bolton Ab- 
bey. We stepped into our barouche at ten. J 

* As Her Majesty usually has fine weather when she travels 
or appears on any great clay, a lair day is called " the Queen's 
weather." 



THE PBIORT. 15 

begged to mount the box with the coachman, so I 
wrapped him in papa's great gray shawl, and the 
white horses started on our winding way. We 
drove by Skipton Castle's strong walls, and I ob- 
served the lower part of a tower, with its buttresses 
at one angle ; but the upper portion has fallen. The 
Yorkshire wolds looked bare and hard after the 
lovely, soft forms of the southern countries ; but 
they are mostly cultivated, and present delicious, 
green tints of that golden, sunny shade which we 
so often see in English lawns. 

The orderly stone-walls help to give a hard ex- 
pression to the country. I hoped there were no 
such things in England. They look unsympathiziDg 
and surly, and as if they bruised nature's fair face. 
The roads were so up-and-down-wise, that the coach- 
man was perpetually putting on and taking off the 
drag. 

At last we approached the Priory. First we saw 
an old inn, apparently very old, and called " Devon- 
shire Arms ;" but we did not stop there. It was but 
six miles that we had come, and the horses could 
perfectly well take us to the Abbey before resting. 
Therefore we went on, and drew up at the " Hole-in- 
the-wall." Through this Hole — a rough gateway — 
we entered the enchanting valley of the Wharfe. It 
is said to be the loveliest situation, as regards natu- 
ral beauty, without help from art, which is to be 
seen in England. It is indeed of wonderful beauty. 
Soft, velvet, rolling lawns, round three parts of 



16 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 

wliicli flows the Wharfe, quite a broad, clear river. 
Its banks are high, and on the side opposite the 
lawns rise into lofty hills, and down one of these a 
silver waterfall made delicious music. As in all 
these monastic retreats, we seemed, after entering 
the gates, in a safe paradise, with the world shut 
out, and the peace of heaven around us. No sound 
but of silver waterfalls and songs of birds. How 
Avell the old abbots and priors knew where to crys- 
tallize their magnificent ideas of state, repose, and 
worship into stone ! Thomas a Kempis might here 
have Avritten his divine sentences, each one so like a 
translucent droj^ of that singing, shining fall — in- 
cluding also the infinite serenity of the lawns, and 
the slumbering sunshine's dim gold. These lawns 
went waving far away, till they were lost in a broad 
gleam of the river, toward the west; and again be- 
yond the river rose the hills, so as to shut all in se- 
curely from earthly confusion. The ruins are at the 
eastern extremity of the site. Of the Abbey, in 
which the priors and monks lived, not an atom, not 
a crumb remjllns standing, except one mighty chim- 
ney, with its fireplace. All alone and apart it 
stands, the hearth-stone even gone. 

April 12th. — I did not bring my sketch-book ; and, 
to be sure, if I had, there would not have been time 
to accomplish anything with the pencil, but yet it 
seemed impossible to leave the spot without some 
record. I should like to have drawn each transept, 
and the beautiful chancel, with its superb, arched 



BOLTON PRIORY. 17 

window, yet not to be compared to tliat of Fiimess 
Abbey. One or two lovely pinnacles were left in 
this part, from which the ivy hung in wreaths, with 
a marvellous grace. 

We went to the edge of the banks of the Wharfe 
to look at the whole effect of the church, and we 
found the banks deHghtfully steep, and the river of 
really good width — a freshi, clear, enchanting river. 
It is a favorite place for anglers, for of course the 
monks wished for nice fish for Fridays and Lent, 
and selected their dwelling-place accordingly. We 
saw some of the world's young men enter by the 
" Hole-in-the-wall," with basket and line, and dis- 
appear among the rich undulations of the lawn 
toward the west, while we stood by the church. 
After examining the ruined chancel and transepts, 
we found a man to open for us the porch and nave. 
The nave is still used for services. I saw the most 
ancient of men, with another more modern-looking 
person, digging in a small enclosure, and I asked 
for a showman. The ancient, who was a bundle of 
WTinkles, held together by a velvet jacket and small- 
clothes, rested on his spade, and gazed at me out 
of his queer little eyes, but spoke never a word. 
He resembled one of the gothic gurgoyles w^hich 
are carved on the cloisters and at the springing 
of the arches of cathedrals. A very cheerful, 
jolly verger came, with his key, from a house 
quite near the ruin, and a great blemish to the 
scene. We entered the nave, which is entirely 



18 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 

peculiar in my experience ; for it lias columns 
only on one side, heavy, vast columns, — and but 
three, supporting almost round arches, so that to 
me it looked like half a nave, or a church cut down 
the middle and half gone. Five or six tall windows, 
filled with brilliantly painted glass, were opposite 
the columns. The roof was of unceiled, dark oak, 
with carved, heraldic devices at the crossings of 
tlie vaulted arches. Over the altar was an oil-paint- 
ing of Christ bearing the cross, very poor ; and 
upon the altar hung a heavy, crimson velvet cloth, 
just like a pall. On one side of the altar was a 
small chapel, under which bodies w^ere found buried 
upright. Wordsworth probably referred to this 
when he sung, 

" Look down and see a grisly sight — 
A vault, where the corpses are buried upright ; 
There, face by face, and hand to hand, 
The Claphams and Mauleverers stand. 
And there, in his place, betwixt son and sire, 
Stands John de Claiiham, that fierce Esquire, 
A valiant man and a man of dread. 
In the ruthless wars of the White and Red ; 
Who dragged Earl Pembroke from Banbury church, 
Aud smote off his head on the stones of the porch." 

No other chapel is left entire. There is a part of 
a piscina remaining in that one. After we had seen 
everything else, the verger went mysteriously into a 
private nook, and with tender care brought out two 
pieces of ancient, painted glass. On one was a 
lamb, and on the other a dragon. The colors were 



BOLTON PBIORY. 19 

of wonderful richness, especially the greens, like the 
soul of an emerald. There was one stain of ruby- 
red, also very gorgeous, and a yellow, like sunshine. 
I wish I could have taken at least the lamb ; but, 
dear me ! I might as well have laid my head on the 
block at once. It seems papa was in fear that I 
would drop this lamb on the stone pavement, at 
which catastrophe he looked to have the great nave 
explode, and blow us all into fragments. But both 
bits were safely restored to their hiding-places, and 
then we were invited into a tiny vestry, and re- 
quested to record our names. The man, with great 
pride, exhibited to me, in a former volume of names, 
that of the late queen Adelaide. I asked where 
Victoria's was, but he said Her Majesty had never 
been there. In the porch lay several finely sculp- 
tured bits of stone, and one of them was beautified 
with moss in a marvellous manner. 

Certainly beauty seems to haunt these old abbeys, 
and to place her magic finger, in especial love, 
where decay encroaches. My earnest hope always 
is that all may remain as now. This church and 
property, for six miles, belongs to the Duke of 
Devonshire, and it is a perpetual curacy. He skil- 
fully restores a little at times to keep it extant, and 
if he would only raze the house I mentioned as 
being a blemish, and would kindly demolish the 
modern part of his own hunting-lodge, I could ask 
no more of him. The centre of this hunting-lodge 
is the very grand old gateway of the Priory, which 



20 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 

would look altogether magnificent if it stood alone, 
as it ought. But the duke has built two wings of 
apartments, of no particular order of architecture, 
and of a most impertinent, brave newness. How 
his grace could be so wanting in taste and sense of 
fitness, I cannot imagine. If I had been a fairy, 
with a wand, not one moment longer would those 
intrusive, yellow wings have spread themselves out 
on either side the stately gateway, as if to fly away 
with it. It should again become the entrance to 
the grounds ; and after that were accomplished, my 
wand should annihilate every trace of the dwelling- 
house. It was the greatest pity in the world, that 
we had not time to go to the Strid, a narrow pas- 
sage rent by the river Wharfe through a bed of 
solid rock.- It was there that the boy Egremont 
was drowned, of whom Wordsworth speaks in the 
poem called " The White Doe of Kylstone." Also 
he has written a poem, " The Force of Prayer ; or, 
the Founding of Bolton Priory," in Avhich is the 
story of this disaster. 

" Young Romilly through Borden "Woods 
Is ranging high and low ; 
And holds a greyhound in a leash 
To let slip upon buck or doe. 

•' The pair have reached that fearful chasm, 
How tempting to bestride ! 
The lordly Wharfe is there pent in 
With rocks on either side. 

*' The Striding-place is called The Strd), 
A name which it took of yore: 



BOLTON PHIORT. 21 

A thousand years has it borne that name, 
And shall a thousand more. 

" And hither is young Eomilly come ; 
And what may now forbid 
That he, perhaps for the hundredth time, 
Shall bound across The Strid ? 

" He sprang in glee, for what cared he 
That the river Avas strong, and the rocks were steep ? 
— But the greyhound in the leash hung back, 
And checked him in his leap. 

" The boy is in the arms of Wharfe, 
And strangled by a merciless force ; 
For never more was young Romilly seen 
Till he rose a lifeless corse." 

And so his mother founded this Priory in memory 
of her sorrow. The Strid was but a mile from the 
Abbey, but our hour was spent, and we were obliged 
to lose it, as well as a ruined fortress of the Cliffords, 
near by. 

Thus Ave left this paradise through the " Hole-in- 
the-wall ;" and as our barouche had not come, we 
walked on, and sent J to order it to be in readi- 
ness at the inn upon our arrival there. 

There was a thousand-year-old yew-tree in the 
road, with enormous gnarled trunk ; and on one side 
the head of a great lion has grown out — a very per- 
fect head, viewed from one side. The mouth is 
open, and some wag has put between its gaping 
jaws a large, flat, oval paving-stone, to represent a 
tongue. It would be better away, for doubtless the 
old lien is roaring, and there is no occasion for a 



23 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 

tongue lopping out, like that of a thirsty dog. It 
looks as if it were cut by art, it is so expressive, and 
a sort of yellow moss represents the mane. 

The carriage met us before we arrived at the inn, 
and just before a few diamond drops fell through 
the sunshine. Our carriage was filled up from Skip- 
ton to Castlefort. At Castlefort several persons 
alighted, and at another station we took in a man 
who told us a great deal. He pointed out to us the 
beautiful ruins of Kirkstall Abbey, this side of Leeds, 
very near the railway track. If it ever had seclu- 
sion, it is open to the tumult, noise, and grimness of 
the world now, just on the wayside. What an ob- 
ject was Leeds ! Thousands of monumental chim- 
neys belching the blackest, foulest smoke — the at- 
mosphere laden with abominations — multitudes of 
churches, endeavoring to shoot up their spires and 
tower above defilement — endless rows of ugly houses 
for the work-people — not a handsome house for any- 
body — piles of manufactories, heaps of coal and 
brick and rubbish of all kinds — and a hopeless look 
of there being no end to it, and that nothing could 
ever be clean any more. This was Leeds, as we 
saw it, till we rushed into an enormous station, and 
could see nothing else for the present. 

Five minutes after four, we came on to York. 
The country grew very much flatter as we approached 
the city. Vast plains stretched out on every side, 
so unvarying, that I began to read the " Illustrated 
Times." Before this, however, I observed that the 



YORK.— THE CATUEDRAL. 23 

birch -trees had put forth their pale, lovely, green 
leaves, which rejoiced my heart. I read till I was 
summoned to see the walls of York, and immedi- 
ately the train was swallowed up in a station three 
times as large as that at Leeds. We entered through 
the Tudor arch. A cabman, with a face exactly like 
dough just beginning to become bread, still quite 
white, took us to the " Black Swan," which he 
affirmed was one of the best York hotels. The 
Black Swan arches its dusky neck over the door, 
and the landlady, in trailing black-silk robes, enact- 
ed the Black Swan in the hall, and consigned us to 
a maid, who was to show us our rooms. We had 
a nice large parlor, with a bow- window ; and two 
chambers contiguous, and a good little dressing- 
room with a fireplace. 

April ISfh. — We ordered a sort of dinner-tea, and 
then walked out on Saturday evening to look at 
the Cathedral — outside, at least. It is quite near the 
Black Swan. I was at first disappointed that it was 
not in the midst of a vast close, like Salisbury Ca- 
thedral, because it was nearly impossible to get a 
complete view of it all at once. It is mighty in size, 
and needs a respectful distance from which to view 
it; and I had an idea that its spires pierced the 
stars, and found that they seemed low in proportion 
to the extent of the building. Here my growling 
ends. It is sufficiently magnificent to satisfy any 
reasonable mortal. York should not have crowded 
round it so intrusively. On one side only is there 



24 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 

any space, and therein stand tlie houses of the 
Dean and of the resident Canon, one of them quite 
palatial. I think it was the Dean who cleared away 
this breathing-place, thanks be to his memory. It 
is wonderful how much these stupendous works owe 
to individuals. The exterior is all incrusted with 
sculptures, gurgoyles, and statues. Yet there are 
innumerable niches and stalls with no statues. Some 
may have fallen, but some were never filled. I hope 
a future Archbishop or Dean may fill them all, be- 
cause it would make it so gorgeously rich. Fretted 
pinnacles rise from every part, and borders of foliage 
and arabesque mouldings, and very singular project- 
ing figures — animals and human half-forms, rushing 
out horizontally like waterspouts. An old man ac- 
costed us before the south entrance, and asked us 
if we had ever seen their fiddler. Thinkini? he must 
mean some poor ancient, still alive, we told him we 
had not time to see him now, it was so late in the 
evening. " Oh, but you must look at him," he 
urged, hobbling along before us ; and when we were 
at the right spot, he turned and pointed to the 
highest pinnacle over the marigold window. There, 
to be sure, in remote solitude, stood the fiddler, 
with his fiddle snug under his left ear, and the bow 
in his right hand. I do not know how many feet he 
really measures, but he looks about eighteen inches 
high. " Many a person comes to York," said the 
old man, " who never sees the fiddler." 

So, then, We came home to dinner, and were served 



YORK MINSTER 25 

bj a grave butler, instead of by a maid as at Skip- 
ton ; having been received at the door, also, by a 
youthful waiter with immaculate neck-tie, shining 
hair, and spotless black body-coat. 

The Black Swan haunts the hall and staircases, 
and whenever I meet her she says some polite thing ; 
but she is not lovely, and I think she makes even 
the grave butler hop and run sometimes ; for she is 
evidently a fierce swan, beneath her folding shawl 
and long train. 

We were requested, of course, to write our names 
in a book ; and behold, we found the names of two 
or three hundred Americans in it ; — the Nortons of 
Cambridge, the Quincys and Wares and Water- 
stons, Mr. Frank Peabody of Salem, and multitudes 
of New York people, and others. Finally, we found 
that it was a book for American names only, and no 
English ones at all were admitted. 

On Easter Sunday, then, we went to York Minster 
at half-past ten. I had time hardly to cast a hurried 
glance before a verger took possession of us, and 
asked if we wished to attend the services. As this 
was what we came all the way to York to do, we 
said " Yes," and he took us into the choir, beneath 
the superb stone screen, over which is the grand 
organ. 

But now we are off for Manchester, where I will 
write you the rest of our experiences. 

3 



26 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 

ISIanchester, April LSth. Palatine Hotel. 

We arrived in this great emporium of soot and 
mire at a quarter to eight. It is after nine now, 

and we have taken tea, and J has retired, 

" twice homesick," as he said. I suppose he meant, 
once after his anemones, and once after you and 
baby. This is a giant hotel, so far as I could see in 
the dusk, and there was a perfect bouquet of waiters, 
in white cravats, blooming in the lobby and hall as 
we entered. But I must return to the choir of York 
Minster, where I left you this morning. 

The old verger said I must go one way and papa 
another, and he proceeded to put me into a nice, 
cushioned seat, close by the choristers. But I told 
him I had a very noisy cough, and preferred not to 
sit where I might disturb the dignitaries and wor- 
shippers; so he allowed me to go my own way, 
which was far along toward the high altar, where I 
sat down in full view of the whole assembly, and in 
a much better position to hear the music. I did 
not see what was done with papa for a great while. 
It was fifteen minutes before the sermon began, and 
so I had time to gaze about me. The choir is very 
beautiful — the tabernacle-work and stalls of richly- 
carved oak, but modern, because the ancient choir 
was burnt in 1829. It is not to be compared noio to 
the t.'dxn-iiacle-work of the choir of Chester Cathe- 
dral. That came out of the love and souls of the 
carvers, who made it an act of devotion. Still, ex- 



YORK MINSTER. 27 

ceedinglj beautiful, however, looking like climbing 
flcimes, as it always does. The organ, exactly op- 
posite me, was one large cluster of aspiring pinna- 
cles, of the same rich oak as the stalls, and of the 
same design. There is no appearance of an organ- 
ist, or of human agency about that instrument. I 
did see a man hover for a moment in a gallery on 
one side of it, but he was instantly swallowed up in 
the blazing spires. It is much better so, than to 
see any one laboring away to produce the sound of 
soft recorders, or of jubilee or thunder, as the case 
may be. Every finely-sculptured point of the thou- 
sand ascending upward, seemed to quiver with 
praise and thanksgiving. The cathedral itself burst 
forth in anthems. 

Not quite half-way between us and the organ 
were, on one side, the pulpit where the Canon 
preaches, and on the other, the archbishop's throne. 
It is St. Peter's church, and on the crimson velvet 
drapery of the pulpit the keys were embroidered 
in gold. The pulpit and throne were of carved oak, 
of the same tabernacle-work, as light and airy as 
fire. A screen, of the same delicately-sculptured 
oak, shut in the whole central aisle of the choir from 
the side aisles, the pointed, narrow arches being 
filled with the finest plate-glass, so that when the 
heavy crimson-cloth curtain fell, like a portcullis, 
from the upper groove of the entrance, a really 
comprehensible space was enclosed, provided one 
did not look upward ; for then the lofty vaulting, 



28 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 

higher even than that of the nave, suggested ideas 
of the incomprehensible infinite, dissipating the 
sense of snugness forever. Directly behind the al- 
tar, a stone screen completed the enclosure, and also 
obstructed the view of the east window. But with 
that I had nothing to do then. 

At last the intoning of the usual service began, 
and the young choristers mingled their clear, airy 
voices. I do not know as I can give you any idea 
of the effect of the echoes in those spaces. Every 
tone was, as it were, the root or stem of a mighty 
tree of multitudinous branches of sound, which, as 
it issued from the lips, was taken up by the vast 
arches and lofty vaultings, as the tree expands into 
the heavens, and the echoes of the echoes were like 
a thousand birds singing on the branches. In the 
branches, musical winds mingled with the bird- 
songs, making soft thunder of the leaves, rising, 
falling, spreading, intervolving, receding, and again 
returning in full, broad diapason. I had no book 
with which to follow the clergyman and people, and 
perhaps it was better so. The majestic minster 
was " instant in prayer," and jubilant with praise. 
Man did a little, but the cathedral effected far more. 
The chanting of young boys is unlike any other 
sound in the world. It is not at all like women's 
voices, though sweet and delicate like their sweetest 
and most delicate tones. It is that and something 
more. I always wonder if it is not like angels' 
voices. The anthems of joy for the resurrection 



YORK MIXSTER. 29 

were most glorious. All at once one of tlie vergers 
came from the choir, with a silver mace on his 
shoulder, preceding a personage whom I supposed 
to be the Archbishop, for, as it was Easter Sunday, 
he must be there. This priest had a Roman pro- 
file, — was tall, and dressed in white, with the black 
mantle, or, I should say, in a dalmatica and stole. 
Two others followed him in the same costume. 
They came toward the altar, and passed me as they 
went to the communion-table. 

The verger saw I had no book, and gave me one ; 
and a portion of the Holy Communion service was 
read by the tall and reverend person, whom I took 
for the Secundate of all England (the Archbishop of 
Canterbury being the Primate). His voice was not 
good ; but the echoes took the words, as always, 
and glorified the intonations. Another, perhaps the 
Dean, now repeated a prayer, and his accents were 
nobler, and produced a grander reverberation. When 
he had finished, another anthem burst forth, and 
this was the most wonderful of all. It was a wail- 
ing of plaintive sorrow, as if expressing the Passion 
of Christ; and when he *' gave up the ghost," the 
cathedral was filled with thunder, — rolling from the 
organ as from a cloud, and then caught up and 
repeated, folding and unfolding afar off — scarcely 
dying away before another peal from the organ 
again rolled forth. So with soft, pathetic plainings, 
and deep, thunderous moans, his passion, cruci- 
fixion, and death were sung ; but when he rose ! the 



80 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 

whole power of joy and triumpli was expressed by 
voice and instrument. The magnificent, painted 
windows blazed anew with their rainbow colors, 
and it was all light, splendor, hope, and joy. This 
should have closed the services, for there was noth- 
ing more appropriately to be done. But now the 
verger attended the Archbishop to the pulpit, and 
he began to preach ! And since he presumed to 
speak, one would think that on such a day, in such 
a cathedral, exalted by such music, he might have 
spoken inspired words. But, alas ! it was the emp- 
tiest, flattest, stupidest sermon that ever was pro- 
nounced, though the theme, of course, was the 
Besurrection. This heavy exordium lasted about 
twenty minutes. Any one of the glorious windows, 
full of saints and prophets in crimson and gold and 
emerald, preached a more edifying sermon, and I 
endeavored to get what good I could from those 
I could see ; but the discourse came to an end, and 
we came forth into the nave, and met papa, who 
had been put into one of the prebend's stalls. 

We could not be shown the cathedral on Sunday, 
and therefore we came home. I ought to say that 
the Archbishop of York, I find, was not there, and 
that it was a Canon who addi'essed the people, and 
had the Boman profile. 



LINCOLN CATHEDRAL. 31 

11. 

LINCOLN CATHEDEAL. 

May 22d. 

Here we are, safely arrived in this old cathe- 
dral city, after about seven hours' rush from your 
presence at the Southport station. Fancy how 
beautiful it was the moment we left the frowsy sand- 
hills of our seaside, and found ourselves in the ver- 
dant country, in this first blooiti of its spring. The 
wonderful variety of the tints of green is always 
most apparent when the leaves first unfold. To say 
that the fields and trees w^ere green, gives no idea of 
the endless shades of color, from the yellowish, cal- 
low tint, which seems to imprison the sunbeams, 
deepening through emerald, up to the solemn cy- 
press hue of the spruces and pines, with all the pos- 
sible cadences from first to last. The late rains 
have freshened the fields and meadows and hillsides 
into utmost perfection. The dry, old sand vanished 
away entirely ; and I was just thinking that there 
was no color so grateful and lovely as green, when 
a flush of purple suddenly spread over the face of the 
land from tens of thousands of wild hyacinths, on 
both sides the railway-track, ringing out perfume 
with all their bells. 

What delicious fraojrance must have filled the air 
around them ! but we poor prisoners of steam and 



32 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 

cinders, conlcl have no benefit of hyacintliine odors. 
Yery soon the golden gorse began to glow over the 
banks, and a red flower, whose name I do not know, 
while daisies faithfully starred the earth on every 
side, with our dear old dandelion and wild pink, to 
remind me of the Wayside and America. Presently 
we coursed along by a canal, the Leeds and Liver- 
pool Canal, pretty and picturesque now, because 
winding between trees and flowers, and once in a 
while passing beneath a perfect little stone bridge, 
of one symmetrical arch, so forever beautiful, that 
every time I see one of the hundreds that span the 
narrow rivers and canals of England, I am in a new 
delight. 

We were delayed in a very tiresome way just be- 
fore entering Manchester, and feared we should lose 
the train for Lincoln. The railroad directors an- 
nounced that they would never promise to arrive 
at appointed times, nor to be responsible for any 
accident or loss. 

We at last dawdled along to the station, and when 
the carriages fairly stopped, we rushed into a fly 
and dashed off to the London depot. 

Lincoln — May 23d. — In all the great cities of 
England, Saturday evening is a kind of festival, and 
so it is here. The shops are brilliantly lighted, and 
the street is thronged with the poorer classes, going 
to buy their next week's groceries and provisions, 
and all talking together. Each one has a basket, 



imCOLN CATUEDRAL. 83 

and not only tlie sidewalks, but the middle of tlie 
street, are crowded with human beings. There is a 
particular Saturday evening market in Lincoln, be- 
sides that the shops keep open late. Out of the 
line of my vision, but within hearing, as I sat, a 
violin and fife struck up a prelude, and then a fine, 
manly voice sang several songs very well. 

Just now a band of music came up, and we ran to 
the window, thinking we might see a military com- 
pany ; but it was only the brass-instrument-pla}- ers, 
and they stopped just opposite us, and performed 
two pieces of music, one of them an andante of 
Beethoven. The crowd grew dense around them 
instantly, and I think it was for the entertainment 
of the crowd that they were playing. It was most 
refreshing and delicious to me, always so starved 
for music, and to hear a strain of Beethoven was a 
boon I did not look for. 

Soon after the band went away, a street-preacher 
or a madman began to hold forth, and then the 
musicians returned with a triumphal march, and 
passed off toward the cathedral. It is of the ca- 
thedral I must now tell you. It rained this morn- 
ing, and there was a dreary east wind, and so we 
ordered a fly to take us up the steep hill, to visit 
the interior of the magnificent fane. 

The coachman drove us up a winding way instead 
of the perpendicular road. Unlike all the other 
cathedrals we have visited, every gate was locked, 
so that we could not even go into the nave without 

2* 



34 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 

an attendant. A girl came at last and unfastened a 
door, and we followed her into the southern aisle of 
the west front. 

The width of the west front is 174 feet, covered 
with arched and pointed doorways, arcades, cano- 
pies, niches, mullioned windows, architrave mould- 
ings, and foliage. On each side of the two smaller 
entrance doors, in niches, are sculptures of Saxon 
times. One represents the Angel expelling Adam 
and Eve from Paradise — another, the spirits of the 
just going up to heaven, and the unjust led by Cer- 
berus to the Styx, with friars and nuns and mon- 
sters. Something like Noah's Ark is in one ; and in 
another, Daniel in the lions' den. 

We entered the right-hand smaller door. Alas ! 
what can poor mortals say or do, when they enter 
one of these sublime cathedrals ? To be silent seems 
the only appropriate part, yet I must try to give you 
an idea, as you are not here to see and be silent 
with me. Twelve clustered columns bear up the 
roof of stone, six on each side — no — sixteen; eight 
on each side — for I should count the two which sup- 
port the middle Eood-tower. They are unfortunately 
covered with a kind of plaster and yellow wash, but 
are really made of Purbeck marble, like those col- 
umns and pediments of the beautiful church of the 
Temple in London. It is composed of shells, and 
the tint is mixed ; but the effect is a purplish, pink- 
ish, rich brown, capable of the highest polish. We 
did not think of the detail, however, at first, or how 



LINCOLN GATHEDItAL. 35 

gorgeous it once was in color. Those vast spaces 
satisfy, with the gothic forms — the trefoil-headed 
arches on the walls of the side-aisles, arches beyond 
and above arches, some pointed like a flame, others 
rounded for variety — ^just as in nature no two leaves 
or flowers are precisely alike. Gothic sculpture and 
architecture, I think, represent and reproduce Na- 
ture, and Grecian architecture seems to be Art. One 
is Love, Passion, and Aspiration, and the other In- 
tellect, Thought, and also Beauty — for by both forms 
we arrive at Beauty. The Gothic is aifectional and 
struggling, and the Grecian is philosophic and re- 
poseful. But I must hasten after my verger. He 
did not allow us to dream in the nave. He first 
discoursed about the tai)ernacle-work in the choir. 
He said each stall was different from all the others 
in its canopy, and there are sixty-two ! They are of 
dark oak, and every imaginable leaf and flower are 
interwoven in the tracery. The seats of the vicars 
are more superb still, having kings carved on them, 
and angels, with dulcimers, harps, and viols. The 
bishop's throne is a very simple matter, less stately 
than any ecclesiastical throne I have seen. The 
chancel is beautiful, with an extraordinary double- 
arched gallery, involved in a bewildering harmony, 
like different tones in music mingled together. I 
wish I could have had time to sketch it, as it is con- 
sidered the greatest beauty of the cathedral. In 
the spandrels of the arches are thirty statues, many 
of them with musical instruments — the harp, rebeck, 



3G NOTES m ENGLAND. 

cithern, tabor, pipe, and tnimpet ; and tlie verger 
said they were called the choir of angels. On one 
side of the altar is the tomb of the monk Eemegius, 
who founded the minster. He was a Norman, and 
a man remarkable for piety, charity, and intellect. 
It was consecrated " to the Virgin of Virgins," in 
the twelfth century, time of William Rufus, who, you 
know, succeeded William the Conqueror. A Druid- 
ical temple stood on the site in the early British era, 
and afterward a Roman temple, when the Romans 
occupied the hill as a military station. It was called 
the Roman Lindum. Near Remegius is also the 
cenotaph of Bloet, who stands blowing a trumpet 
on one of the pinnacles of the west front, and there 
are three or four fine figures of soldiers guarding 
the sepulchre. The verger said that Flaxman very 
much liked these watching figures. Opposite are 
the tombs of Katharine de Swinford, wife of John 
of Gaunt, and sister of the poet Chaucer, and at her 
feet is the sarcophagus of her daughter Joan, Count- 
ess of Westmoreland. In the aisle, on the southern 
side, is an illuminated window, containing the names 
of all the Chancellors fi^om 1092 to 1728 ; and be- 
neath is a little chapel, called St. Katharine's, 
founded by Bishop Longland, and containing his 
buried heart. 

The cathedral is rich in little chapels, which give 
great variety to the exterior of the edifice. Henry 
of Huntingdon, the historian, is interred near 
Katharine de Swinford. Before Bishop Heming's 



LINCOLN CATIIEBllAL. 37 

chapel, opposite tlie presbytery, is a sculptured 
figure of Death, lyiug in a shroud, which the Bishop 
put there to remind him of mortality, when he 
went to his private devotions. It is said also to 
commemorate his fast ; for he tried to fast forty 
days and nights, and died in the effort. Inside is 
his tomb, and his figure, sculptured in his pontifical 
robes. He was the founder of Lincoln College, Ox- 
ford. The great East window is of modern-painted 
glass, with altogether too much blue in it, I think. 
It represents the prophesied advent, and the life of 
Christ. The Lady-chapel is beneath it, and here 
we saw a rich stone, elaborately-carved shrine, upon 
which once stood '* the Virgin of Virgins," holding 
the infant Saviour ; and just before it, a deep place 
is worn in the stone pavement, by the motion of the 
foot in making obeisance for ages. The statue is 
gone, the worship of " Our Lady" has almost passed 
away from the land ; but the deep print of homage 
is left indelible. 

In this sacred place was great spoil for Henry the 
Eighth. Tens of thousands of ounces of gold and 
silver were taken from this spot, and diamonds and 
other precious stones, which had been brought as 
offerings to the Virgin. And first Henry, and then 
Cromwell, struck off the heads of the statues, after 
quite demolishing Mary ; and one poor knight is 
cut exactly in halves, besides being decapitated. 
Bitterly did the verger speak of the Lord Protector. 
He believed the soldiers were paid for every statue 



38 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 

they destroyed, until tbis was found too costly a 
bargaiu, and so ruin ceased to get a premium. 
Cromwell had a particular fancy for stabling his 
horses in the naves of cathedrals ; and here they 
stamped on the splendid brass tablets which paved 
the whole broad floor ; and then he took possession 
of all the brasses. So that the present pavement is 
of plain stone, and modern. I cannot forgive Crom- 
Avell for such stupid destruction. But he thought 
he was obeying the command, *' Thou shalt have no 
graven images," and in this spirit, it was perhaps 
proper to demolish the Virgin ; not, however, the 
lords, and knights, and gentlemen^ who slept quietly 
in stone on their monuments, and whom no one 
dreamed of worshipping. 

In Our Lady's Chapel are baried, singularly 
enough, the viscera of Queen Eleanor, the beloved 
wife of Edward I., and Edward built the chapel. 
On the tomb of one Bishop Burghersh are carved 
very "graceful, but now headless, male and female 
figures, in alto-relievo. The attitudes and drapery 
are studies, and I wish I could have copied even 
one. Its date is 1340. There were sometimes 
shrines of pure gold for canonized saints, and St. 
Hugh's was one of these. It went into King Henrj^'s 
coifers, and only his stone shrine remains, which is 
that upon which once stood the Virgin, In passing 
along the aisles, the verger called our attention to 
the lovely carvings in unexpected places, — carvings 
in the solid stoue walls. Sometimes it would be of 



LINCOLN CATHEDRAL. 39 

the liawthorn, with a blossom in the centre of four 
leaves ; sometimes it was the oak and acorn. Some 
monk of a sculptor, while walking along in medi- 
tative mood, would seem to have pulled out his 
chisel, and commenced and finished cutting an in- 
terwoven wreath of plant and bloom, in such entire 
relief, that the whole group merely touches in pin- 
points the wall of which it was just now a solid 
portion, without life or grace. And these are formed 
into arches, and often a cluster of perfect forms sud- 
denly blossoms at the springing of an arch, where 
you are looking for no such delight ; for there really 
seems only individual will in each of the productions. 
I can imagine these often idle and cultivated and 
fanciful priests, dreaming with the chisel wherever 
in the vast spaces they chose to use it, just to fill 
the time and keep out of mischief. What lovely and 
immortal play ! 

In Mary Magdalene's Chapel is the very ancient 
font, so large that the infant could have been im- 
mersed in it. Outside are griffins and birds — and 
the outer basin is square ; but a round scoop is 
made inside, and it stands on four columns. It was 
in the original church of St. Bemegius, and once 
stood in the south aisle of the nave. 

"We now left the chancel, and went into the clois- 
ters. They are in good preservation ; and whose 
tomb do you think we saw on the pavement ? It 
was that of Elizabeth Penrose — your good friend, 
Mrs. Markham. J was astonished, not only to 



40 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 

stand on her grave, but to find that Mrs. Markham's 
real name was Elizabeth Penrose. 

The symmetry of the quadrangle is spoiled by 
two things. One is an innovation of Sir Christopher 
Wren, who built the cathedral library on one side, 
and encroached on the lawn. How he could have 
done it, or how he could have been allowed to do it, 
I cannot conjecture. So perfect and grand is the 
general harmony that a dissonance positively tor- 
tures one. But underneath this library is one of the 
finest views of the exterior of the whole structure. 
From that point it is not possible to see any end or 
beginning to the enormous fabric, and it does in- 
deed look like a city, with its pinnacles and towers, 
and chapels and buttresses, rising ^on every side. 
The other blemish is the ugliest possible little 
shanty of brick and stone in one corner of the 
lawn. The verger unlocked it, and we entered. 
There, to be sure, was the famous Roman pavement, 
supposed to be the floor of a bath. It is exceed- 
ingly curious and interesting, but not beautiful. It 
is made of innumerable little cylinders of variously 
colored clay, laid in patterns ; and from the gallery 
over which we leaned to look at it, it had the ap- 
pearance of the painting upon oil-cloth carpets. 
There was a dressing-room as well as a bathing- 
room. The Eomans were established on the hill, 
which commands a fine view of the city and Lin- 
colnshire. So, then, without any manner of doubt, 



LINCOLN CATHEDRAL. 41 

we examined an old Roman constniction of at least 
two tliousand years ago. 

I could haye stood all day, and many days, gazing 
from that sheltered quadrangle upon the glorious 
cathedral. It is so delightfully lawless and un- 
reckonable in its forms. It is something like a sud- 
den upleaping of numberless fountains, each reaching 
a different height, full of flowers, saints, and all 
kind of cunning devices, crystallized in mid-air by 
the wand of a magician, dripping solid splendor on 
every side. And I was only looking at the northern 
part, which by no means resembled the others. 

From the cloisters we went into the chapter-house. 
Like the restored chapter-house of Salisbury, it is 
supported by one column of clustered shafts, throw- 
ing out the roof like so many branches of a tree ; 
but unlike that gorgeous restoration, there are no 
rainbow colors now. This cathedral was all jewelled 
with color in its first era, but either Henry or Crom- 
well daubed everything over with white or yellow 
wash. Where the wash is rubbed, it is easy to dis- 
cover faint blue and red tints still. Once these 
temples must have seemed cleared " forests primeval," 
gemmed and laced with flowers. The verger said 
visitors sometimes expressed that they were glad the 
colors were gone. Those persons must be very cool 
philosophers, risen into the calm of thought. But 
while love exists I pray to have ruby red, heaven's 
blue, and golden yellow, with every intermediate 



43 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 

hue. I am a devoted lover of pure form, but tliese 
cathedrals have developed in me another taste, also 
legitimate ; for flowers and rainbows are also parts 
of creation, and it is designed that we should enjoy 
them before we are angels. Yet the angels — does 
not St. John say that the walls of the new Jerusalem 
which ''descended out of the heaven of God" were 
garnished with all manner of precious stones — 
jasper, sapphke, chalcedony, emerald, sardonyx, 
sardius, chrj-solite, beryl, topaz, chrysoprase, jacinth, 
and amethyst, wdiile the gates were of pearl. The 
angels, then, are not above color, though the gray- 
souled visitors to churches are. 

The roof of the chapter-house is of stone, and 
ever}^ window was once filled with illuminated glass, 
but that is gone and plain is substituted. Lately 
this decagonal building has been strengthened, be- 
cause the excessive weight of the roof was pushing 
out the sides. It is all in good repair. 

I have forgotten to say that we saw a veritable 
Homan altar, with an inscription, inside the cathedral, 
as well as the shrine of little St. Hugh, a child said 
to have been crucified by the Jews in derision of 
tlie infant Christ, and afterward buried here as a 
aiartyr. A stone cofiin, with a child's bones, was 
^eally foimd, as a verification of the legend. 

But I must close this long story now, and com- 
nence again for another mail. We shall go to the 
original old Boston to-morrow. 



LIXCOLN CATnEDRAL. 43 

May 24tli. — I have not yet left the cathedrah I told 
you last of the Chapter-house. After seeing that, tlie 
verger brought us into the great transept. Tliis 
always points north and south, and the nave, choir, 
chancel (or presbytery), and Lady-chapel face east 
and west. Above the centre of the great transept rises 
the Kood tower (rood means cross), containing the 
famous Tom of Lincoln, the mighty bell. This 
tower is three hundred feet high, the highest without 
a spire in the kingdom, and its enormous weight is 
supported by four beautiful and very lofty arches. 
They have a slender elegance, which seems quite in- 
adequate to so much effective effort. Yet there rises 
and rests the noble tower safe and serene. 

Beneath the arch that opens upon the choir, (ex- 
actly" opposite the west-entrance door,) is the organ, 
over the usual stone screen. This screen is un- 
speakably rich in sculpture, in high and low relief. 
I am sure tliese carvings must have been acts of de- 
votion, but yet this w^orkmanship is supposed to be 
that of professed artists, hired for the purpose. 
High up in the curve of the southern end of the 
transept is a rose-window. It is exceedingly large, 
and instead of having sashes in a regular form, such 
as star-shaped, or tangents, or right-angles, or any 
other angles, some lover of what Euskin calls " the 
immortal curve" designed the sashes in an ara- 
besque or acanthus pattern, which I would have 
given the verger or my left hand to have had a 



44 2WTES m E^s^GLAND. 

cliance to sketch. Upon all the glass inserted in 
this ^vildemess of enchanting, waving, curling lines, 
contained within a perfect circle, are colors as fresh 
and gorgeous as if just born of prisms ; and at first 
glance I thought they were flowers — of paradise, 
certainly — but flowers. Then they seemed to be 
saints — and saints may be called the flowers of holi- 
ness, perhaps ; but the window was too high for me 
to decide, and the verger did not know. Each tint 
was a gem of purest ray, ruby, emerald, and all the 
royal fraternity. When dazzled with the splendor, 
one can follow the " immortal curves" of tlie sashes, 
and when weary of imagining whither, in infinity, 
the curves lead, there remains the circle enclosing 
all, the satisfying emblem of Eternity. 

There is a tradition about this wonderful, celestial 
bouquet of either flowers or saints. It is that the 
master-artist undertook to produce the northern 
rose-window, while the apprentice was appointed to 
execute the southern one. Curtains hung before 
each, till both were finished. And when the south- 
ern rose was unveiled to the eyes of the master, in 
despair at its eminent superiority to his own, he 
threw himself upon the pavement beneath and died. 
A stain of blood is shown upon the stones. This is 
the same kind of story as that of the peerless column 
in Roslyn Chapel. But the master's window is also 
beautiful. It represents the Church on earth and 
the Church in heaven, and is said to be the most 
perfect work of the thirteenth century. 



LINCOLN CATHEDRAL. 45 

Almost all the old stainecl-glass of the cathedral 
was ignorantly destroyed at the Reformation, and 
during the civil wars, probably because of the 
saints pictured on them. But the verger said that 
it was now a decree of the Chapter, that no tribu- 
tary monument should be henceforth erected to the 
dead, excepting emblematic, painted-glass windows. 
Is not this good ? Four new ones are already put 
in, and slowly, I suppose, all will be accomplished. 
These four are in the southern aisle of the nave. 

While we were in the Lady-chapel, Great Tom 
tolled twelve o'clock, with a grand, majestic, thun- 
derous sound, solemn and slow too, and most tune- 
ful as well. It is in the key A, and is a fit voice for 
the magnificent minster, and seems to thrill through 
every atom of its frame. Old Tom was considered 
finer in tone and more powerful even than this, and 
was dearly loved by Lincoln. But one morning the 
city was startled by a strange dissonance in its be- 
loved bell. Upon examination, it was found to have 
a fissure on its rim. No patching would serve, so it 
was broken up, and six lady-bells were added to it, 
and new Tom was made of all, melted together. 

The south end of the great transept has two 
aisles, and opening from the western aisle, which 
would be parallel to the west facade, is what is 
called a Galilee, a superb porch of very large size. 
It is not used now for its original purpose ; but it 
was the place where penitents on trial stood, before 
being allowed to commune again with the church- 



46 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 

members — a kind of sinners' ante-room, wliicli it 
was humiliating to pass tlirougb. Women were 
allowed there only to see the monks who were their 
relatives ; and in some cathedrals females were not 
permitted to attend divine service except in the Gal- 
ilee. This has been repaired lately, and is as rich 
as possible in pinnacles, arches, and flowers, outside. 
At the north end of the central transept, beneath 
the master's rose-window, is an arched door, which 
is the private entrance of the Dean. Two narrow, 
tall lights are over it, filled with old, stained glass. 
The Lord Bishop's entrance is through the southeast 
porch, on one side of the chancel. It is gorgeous 
in decoration. Over the door, Christ sits as judge, 
with his angels. Lovely garlands of flowers and 
leaves, and little statues, some still intact, others 
headless, cover the vaulted roof. The Yirgin and 
Infant once stood on the middle pier, but that group 
is of course destroyed, and four bishops stand be- 
headed, without trial, at the entrance. 

You perceive we have said farewell to the verger, 
and are looking at the exterior again now. The 
whole eastern side is of exquisite beauty, with its 
gables and double buttresses, filled with slender pil- 
lars and pointed arches and brackets, upon which 
statues stand and stood, with finely-wrought cano- 
pies overhead — the stone changed into airy lace. 
On the tips of the buttresses are pinnacles, octagons 
with spires, so you can imagine how it must flame. 
The stone is heavy nowhere. It is made light as 



LINCOLN CATUEDRAL. 47 



fire and air with cunning handiwork. I am afraid I 
have said " light as fire" once before, in describing 
York Minster, but I can think of no other simile 
that suits either case so well. 

When we left this wonder of art, we walked about 
the high plain upon which it is erected, to see the 
castle and Eoman arch and wall. The gateway of 
the castle, the keep, and part of the walls, are all 
that remain. The Conqueror built it. It was one 
of the four great castles he built when he first took 
possession. It must have been grand. The lower 
part of the huge keep stands crowned with ivy, with 
beautiful shrubbery and trees springing up round 
the base, and up the steep mound upon which it 
rests. 

The castle entrance has a ruined look, for it was 
too well battered in Cromwell's wars, by the Earl of 
Manchester. John of Gaunt, " time-honored Lan- 
caster," made it his winter residence ; and the w^alls 
enclose nearly seven acres. 

When William the Conqueror commenced this 
fortress, he also began the cathedral, and the cathe- 
dral alone seems to have been enclosed in walls ; for 
several massive stone gates still stand, and one of 
them is exactly opposite the west front. 

The Roman arch of which I just now spoke is 
considered the best relic "of Eoman work in England. 
It has already survived two thousand years or more, 
and looks as if it might last indefinitely. It is 
peculiar in having no key-stone. 



48 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 

There was once a great parallelogram of wallj of 
wliicli this was one of the gates, but all the other 
gates are demolished, and the only bit of original 
wall left standing is in the middle of a garden, care- 
fully palisaded round for safekeeping. This rem- 
nant is in a line with the foregoing archway that I 
have slightly sketched. Violence, and not time, has 
destroyed these stern and earnest fabrics. Roman 
streets, hard now as iron, have been discovered by 
digging down into the soil about Lincoln. I really 
believe that it is what there is Roman, stereotyped 
into the English, which makes them also build so 
strongly. We walked all round the castle, after 
faithfully examining the famous archway, and then 

J was hungry, and went into the funniest little 

old shop that ever was seen, kept by an ancient man, 
and bought some gingerbread, an acre of it, I should 
think, " and munched and munched," as Macbeth's 
witches say. I have no doubt that old shop was 
built of the wrecks of the Roman walls, and I am 
not sure that the old man was not himself an eternal 
old Roman. 

The town of Lincoln lies in a great plain at the 
foot of the hill ; but it was so misty that day that 
we could not see it well, and the wind was bitterly 
cold, so that I was obliged to come home. 

We descended Steep-street into Guildhall, and 
came through Stone Bow, another solid arch at the 
head of High-street, and close by our hotel, the 
Saracen's Head. This was, probably, a work of the 



LINCOLN CATUEDRAL. 49 

Conqueror, and it may be Roman, for tlie Romans 
extended their city down into the plain. 

This morning there was a pouring rain, but it 
cleared at noon, and at five we took our drive of two 
hours. We first mounted the storied hill, and slowly 
went round the cathedral, and round Colonel Sib- 
thorpe's Bede-houses — charitable institutions for 
women — and along a road, from which we had a fine 
view of the city, and the country, to a far distance. 
Then we returned, and drove to the cemetery, and 
over the common, from which the hill made a stately 
picture, crowned with cathedral and castle. We also 
passed by John of Gaunt' s stables, a very interesting 
ruin, with fine carved work. 

Near this is the site of his summer palace. Then 
we drove to the race-course. The wind was w^est, 
and the green enchanting, and we enjoyed ourselves 
very much. Coming home, we passed a choice gem 
called now St. Mary's Conduit. It was once a 
shrine, and it is covered with delicate sculpture and 
canopies. It was so wonderfully beautiful that I 
wish I could have carefully drawn it. It was erected 
in the time of Edward I. by Ranulphus de Kyme. 
I will just give you an idea of its form, and end off 
Lincoln. 

3 



III. 

OLD BOSTON AND ST. BOTOLPH'S. 

Boston, Lincolnshire, May 26th, 1857. 
Does not it look delightfully to see the name of 
that beloved city for my date ? But this original 
old town is not in the least like our " Athens." It 
is perfectly flat, and boasts of but one single thing, 
but this is very handsome. It is the ancient church 
of St. Botolph. Botolph's town was the name now 
contracted into Boston. By pronouncing it very 
quickly, you can see how it might be, especially if 
you will recall the style in which the English guards 
announce names to us railroad travellers. Their 
idea seems to be to utter the word at high-pressure 
speed, in imitation of steam-rate of progress. But 
I must not arrive in Boston as if I were a pigeon. I 
must tell you how we came. One of the waiters at 
the Saracen's Head told us on Monday morniug that 
there was a steamboat which went to Boston from 
Lincoln at ten o'clock, along the river Witham, and 
that it was a nice boat, and the scenery was very 
beautiful on the banks of the river. It was a fine 
morning, and w^e thought it would be a great relief 
from rail carriages to glide down a lovely river in 
the sunshine, even though it should take five hours, 
instead of one hour by rail. Before ten, we drove 
to the river-banks, and there were multitudes of 
boats moored, each one, as we passed, looking 



OLD BOSTON AND ST. BOTOLPH'S. 51 

too bad to enter. But at last tlie carriage stopped 
at a rather miserable craft, though with a better 
quarter-deck than the others possessed. It was a 
small steamer, and not nearly so large nor so good 
as the Mersey boats, in which we crossed to Liver- 
pool from Rock Ferry. The sunshine, however, and 
the prospect of the enchanting scenes through which 
we were to pass, kept up our spirits and hopes. The 
w^aiter who tempted us to this excursion looked like 

Mr. F , and so I gave him credit for taste and 

appreciation, and confided in him blindly and madly. 
We were about a year (spiritually) in getting off. 
There was but one other passenger besides ourselves 
on the first-class deck. It was a woman, but not a 
lady — a round, solid old body, of the middle order. 
Papa explored for a cabin in case it should rain, and 
reported that there was one, but he could not paint 
it in glowing colors, though he wished to be en- 
couraging. Finally we commenced our voyage ; but 
were immediately brought up by a lock, and lochs 
kept recurring all along, the river being turned into 
a canal, for the sake of toll, I presume, or to try the 
patience of passengers. Each lock it took centuries 
to unlock, and the slowness of the descent of the 
water can be compared only to the motion of the 
fixed stars, at which we gaze, and perceive no mo- 
tion. Meanwhile, no "plains of Shinar," no "gar- 
dens of the Lord," no Arcadys, nor lordly parks, 
nor cloud-capped Mount Idas with sad, wandering 
(Enones and gay deceiving Parises, met our waiting 



52 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 

eyes. The fens, the fens of Lincolnshire, — the fiats, 
the flats, the flats, spread drearily, east, west, north, 
and south. The wind also blew a strong gale ahead, 
and finally, very soon after starting indeed, it began 
to rain. I immediately was obliged to go down into 
the Plutonic regions. I found there a woman, whose 
house seemed the boat, sewing busily, in the nar- 
rowest of cabins. If we had taken the rail, we 
should have arrived in Boston by that time, so I 
had plenty of food for long-suffering and patience. 
I had a chance to be good under difficulties. I 
talked to the woman, and asked her for a book, but 
she had none. I sat still awhile, and then tried to 
see our way from a wee window in the stern, netted 
over with iron. Still one dreary flat, on both sides, 
and before, stretched without end. 

I ought to tell 3^ou that though around and before 
us was nothing but fens, yet behind us, for four 
hours, rose up Lincoln Cathedral, taking every form 
as we wound along, sometimes looking like a mighty 
castle, narrow and lofty. When an hour distant, it 
^^ as exceedingly grand and beautiful as a cathedral, 
much the finest view we had had of it. Very well 
did the Caesars of Rome know where to take a stand, 
and the Conqueror wisely followed their steps. 

We passed the towns of Washingborough and 
Bardney. And we had one advantage by being in 
a quiet boat instead of in a noisy carriage, for we 
could hear the skylarks ! These delicious little rap- 
tures condescended to rise from the fens, as well as 



OLD BOSTON AKD ST. BOTOLPIFS. 53 

from lovelier fields and meadows, and they were in- 
deed a solace. 

We were excessively delayed by taking up passen- 
gers from the banks, for it was no small trouble to 
stop the steamer, and get near enough to the land. 
Once the captain was very wroth, because a young 
clown was waiting on the margin, with a huge pile 
of broom to be taken in. I could not well under- 
stand why he gave himself the trouble, when it 
seemed so against his will. It was much against 
mine, for we were delayed half an hour by it ; and 
our feelings were constantly aggravated by perceiv- 
ing that the railroad, for the whole distance, ran 
close alongside the river, so that we could have seen 
the countr}^ as well in the carriages as on the water, 
and in one-seventh of the time, which would have 
been long enough, since there was nothing to see. 
The little birds alighted on the telegraph wires, 
which stretched all the way, and I wondered what 
effect their tiny feet might have on the messages 
that were shooting by. At last I saw a pretty tower 
of a church, and a very tall structure by it, and I 
asked the captain what town it was. It was Tat- 
tershall church, castle, and iown. The castle was 
built by Sir Eichard Cromwell. Tattershall Castlo 
and a pretty bridge with three arches, called also 
Tattershall Bridge, were the only picturesque ob- 
jects we saw. The castle was buried in trees, so 
that we could not see the base of it. 

Whenever we went under a bridge, the captain 



54 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 

lowered liis funnel, — not in the way of bowing civilly 
to the bridge, but jerking it backward, in an in- 
tractable, defying manner. 

After six hours and a half, we beheld a wonderful 
tower in the distance, and simultaneously the cap- 
tain came to take the fare. We were much diverted 
that he asked only four shillings for us three. The 
lofty tower proved to be that of St. Botolph's Church 
in Boston. Afar, it looks strangely out of propor- 
tion to the building, but the nearer we approached, 
the better it justified itself. 

When we arrived in port, the captain sent for a 
fl}^ and a very nice one took us to the best hotel in 
town, called the Peacock, Market Square. The 
most solemn of all England's solemn butlers, or 
head-waiters, received us at the door. Papa called 
him a Puritan ; and perhaps he is ; but such an iron, 
utterly unmalleable grimness of soberness I never 
beheld on any face. All footmen and waiters are 
bound to solemnity ; but generally one can discern 
the possibility of a smile, or even of a good laugh 
in the servants' hall or behind a napkin. But some 
terrific discipline has banished all tendency or de- 
sire for mirth from this man's soul. His mouth is 
drawn down with an everlasting resolution that he 
will not be glad, and it also declares that he cannot 
be jolly. I marvel at his inward history — what it 
can be. But perhaps he only sincerely believes 
that all men are condemned to eternal misery, ex- 
cept a few of the elect; and if a person can really 



OLD BOSTOX AND ST. BOTOLPWS. 55 

think this, I do not wonder that he will never smilo 
again. I am afraid he is very sorry for something. 

He ushered us into a little parlor, like a closet, 
and I cried out against it emphatically, and told him 
we must have a larger room. He looked a look 
of ice and stone at me, and replied that there 
was no other disengaged. Not a ray of sympathy 
or concern lighted a line of his face. Finding me 
unmanageable, he said he would call the landlady. 

Enter a jolly dame, all smiles, courtesies, and 
shining black eyes. She expressed regret, and 
thought we could have more spacious apartments 
after dinner. I found, however, I could see St. 
Botolph's Church from the window, and so we ac- 
cepted our destiny with patience. After tea, we 
walked out all around it, and found it exceedingly 
beautiful, and were surprised by a kind of cathedral 
stateliness it has, yet it is not quite hcdf as long as 
Lincoln or York Minsters. Lincoln is five hundred 
and twenty-four feet in length. The tower is three 
hundred feet high, and those slender pinnacles on 
the summit of the lantern are each as large as the 
parlor in which I sit. They are repairing a chapel, 
in which is to be placed the memorial to Mr. John 
Cotton, former Yicar of St. Botolph, who went to 
BostoD, Massachusetts, because he dissented from 
his church, and died there, much beloved. Gentle- 
men of American Boston have contributed, with 
English gentlemen, four hundred and fifty pounds 
toward the memorial, which is to be an illuminated 



5(5 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 

window. The exterior is in excellent preservation ; 
and they are facing the buttresses anew with beau- 
tiful canopies and brackets, and perhaps the statues 
will stand in them again by and by. 

Papa happened accidentally into a funny little 
bookstore, and found an antiquarian, an elderly 
man, to whom he gave his card, and who cordially 

invited him to fetch Mrs. the next day, to see 

some rare treasures he possessed ; and he could 
show all that was interesting in Boston. I should 

not be surprised if this Mr. P were one of the 

persons to whom Mr. B • addressed one of his 

letters ; and if he be, it is as good as a play that 
papa should alight upon him in one of his wild-bird 
passages. So yesterday morning we all went to see 
him. He is a perfect Englishman in appearance, 
comely, handsomely stout, tall enough, and with 
very deep wine-stains on each cheek, genial and 
cordial, and particularly glad to see us. His shop 
is about as big as one division of a walnut. We had 
scarcely time to look about us, before he requested 
us all to go up-stairs into another division of his 
nutshell. This was covered, all over the walls, tables, 
cabinets, and buffets, with every imaginable knick- 
knack and pictures. From this we entered a smaller 
nook, also filled with wonders. Here we sat down, 
careful not to push anything over in the minute 

space, and Mr. P went away to get something. 

And what do you fancy he brought to show us in 
that humble little house in old Boston ? Why, noth- 



I 



/ 



OLD BOSTON AND ST. BOTOLPWS. 57 

ing less than a most royal treasure — a qnilt, em- 
broidered all over in wliite silk, with birds and ara- 
besque patterns upon linen so fine as to be silky, 
and triramed round with two rows of a very rare 
and curious knotted fringe. It seemed the work of 
a lifetime, and it was wrought by Mary Stuart, 
Queen of Scots, while she was imprisoned in Foth- 
eringay Castle. The arabesque was worked in a 
kind of back-stitch, as fine as Aunt Louisa's fairiest 
efforts. The birds and flowers were done in chain- 
stitch. Once in a while, the Queen embroidered her 
cipher, not M. R., but M. S. This was also in chain- 
stitch. The knotted fringe was the work of her 
maidens, and it must have been the labor of years, 
as each small knot is fashioned with the fingers. 
The quilt was lined with pink, and quite heavy with 
the sewing-silk. I imagined the sad and weary 
thoughts she must have had as she sat over it. It 
is stained, and I wondered whether it were not with 
tears. I took off my glove, and touched it, for her 
beautiful hands had very long rested on it- — most 
iU-fated of queens ! 

The next treasure Mr. P brought was a waist- 
coat of Lord Burleigh. " There," said he to J , 

"there, young gentleman, you have to put on this 
vest," and so on it went. It was of pale green silk, 
trimmed round the pockets and edges with a deli- 
cate gold and silver pattern, not half an inch broad, 
but as brilliant and untarnished as if finished yester- 
day ; yet, it is about three hundred and fifty years 

3* 



58 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 

old. J Lad on his talma ; but Lord Burleigh 

must have been slender, for J could not button 

it round his waist. Perhaps some of this illustrious 
counsellor's wisdom, in the form of Od, entered into 
J while wrapped in it. 

Then came a wonderful bag, made of the Victoria 
Eegia, by the Queen of Otaheite, and given to 
Captain Cook ! It was sewed with smallest feathers, 
and the texture of the material was exquisite, like 
goldbeater's skin, and semi-transparent. It was 
once adorned at the opening edges with feather- 
fringe, but most of that was worn off. 

Mr. P showed us also some shoes of past ages, 

of a queer shape with a singular heel. One was of 
white satin, with a flower embroidered upon it, and 
the other was black satin. He contrasted with them 
some slippers made by American Indians. 

Some crystal goblets were beautiful, with St. 
Botolph's Church engraved on them, as well as other 
line buildings, and cyphers also. He brought forth, 
too, an old rose noble (a gold coin) and a double 
sovereign and double guinea, both out of circula- 
tion, and an angel, now obsolete. Each dwelt in 
a wee chamois bag of its own, and was as bright 
as if just from the mint. After seeing these things, 
Mr. P allowed us to go into the other apart- 
ment. Very valuable old prints were framed on the 
walls, and a colored crayon head of Sterne, an in- 
valuable picture, drawn from life, which has never 
been engraved. I dare say the British Museum, or 



OLD BOSTON AND ST. BOTOLPn'S. ?9 

National Gallery, would give thousands of pounds 
for it. Also there was Sterne's wife — drawn in the 
same style — a proud, unamiable, high head-tossing 
lady, from Avhom, I do not wonder, Sterne wished to 
separate. A copy in water-colors of Murillo's 
flower-girl was of exquisite beauty ; and at last the 
good gentleman, all crisp and sparkling with ecstasy 
at our enjoyment of his pets, opened the drawer of a 
cabinet, and took out — what ? Fancy ! No, you 
never can ; for, actually, the enviable old antiquary 
exhibited original pen and pencil studies of Raphael, 
Rembrandt, Giordano, Benvenuto Cellini, Jordaens, 
Maratti, and many others. Yes, the very studies, 
with the growing idea traceable through the involved 
lines. As at Oxford, all those of Raphael were un- 
mistakable, from the delicate grace and fastidious- 
ness of the efforts, so very fine, and drawn with a 
sharply-pointed pencil, while many of the others were 
dashed off with pen and ink. One was a head, in 
brown ink, by Rembrandt, a hat over one eye, and a 
saucy expression, in shadow. Where could Mr. 

P have gained such inestimable jewels ? When 

he is tired of hoarding them, he can make a fortune 
any day by selling them, I should suppose. And he 
ventures to keep them in a wooden cabinet, in that 
small old house, which might burn down any day ! 
He ought to have an iron safe for the purpose, after 
the manner of Oxford, where all the pen and pencil 
sketches of the great masters are in a fire-proof 
apartment. Over the drawings I exhausted my 



\ 



60 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 

capacity for wonder and delight, and after this rich 
feast, we were taken down into a tiny sitting-room, 

and introduced to Mr. P 's wife, a thin, pleasant 

person, whom, I trust, Mr. P considers his most 

precious treasure. A cabinet was opened in this 
room, and illuminated missals given us to see, and 
Bom an medals, antique Latin bibles, printed in 
Antwerp — a secret book, or " Book of Secrets" of 
Queen Elizabeth, -which I opened and read, among 
other receipts, " How to kill a fellow quickly." This 
struck me as very strange, and not very creditable 
to the Queen. But, behold ! upon looking more 
carefully at the stained old type, I found that it was 
" fellon," not " fellow." The present way of spelling 
this word is with one 1 — felon — and so I easily mis- 
took it. We laughed heartily at the mistake, it was 
such an off-hand, unfeeling way of putting such a 
serious matter — the word "fellow" giving such a 
scornful, indifferent tone. So there were all her 
majesty's favorite receipts and notions, very curious 

and entertaining. J was captivated by the 

glory of color in one of the missals — birds, flowers, 
and saints dazzled our eyes with splendor. We 

made Mr. P breathless by telling him of that 

missal we saw last summer at the Countess of Walde- 
grave's, illumina^t^^d by Baphael's own hand. The 
Countess was very uneasy while I looked at it, for it 
was really too invaluable to be left out of her own 
keeping. It was about three inches square, bound 
in velvet and solid gold. Her great blue eyes blazed 



OLD BOSTON AND ST. DOTOLPIPS. Gl 

like a falcon's upon me, till I returned it to lier. I 
am afraid the antiquary broke the Tenth Command- 
ment as he listened to us about it. I asked Mrs. 

P whether she were as much interested as her 

husband in these things, and she said she was not, 
but preferred to read. And then she remarked, 
pointing to a brilliant red-bird in a missal that I was 
turning over : " That bird is almost as red as the 
Scarlet Letter!" She said this in a private, con- 
fidential little way, and made no other allusion to 
the authorship. Finally, we proposed to come away, 
not having seen the hundredth part, though all the 
choicest morceaux ; and the kind gentleman put on 
his hat, and went to show us a curious, old gabled 
house in a narrow alley, built in the French style. 
In the peak of the gable was a heraldic fleur-de-lis 
and the cypher E. R. The gable was trimmed with 
costly, stone Maltese lace, and carved and ornamented 

in various ways, and Mr. P evinced a pious 

horror at the insertion of a modern window-frame in 
another part of the house. He showed us also the 
site of Mr. John Cotton's house, and mourned over 
its demolition. He wished the spot to be enclosed, 
and a memorial built up in the centre, and said that 
Dr. Bigelow, of Boston, Massachusetts, told him, 
when here, that he believed the inhabitants of his 
own city would gladly contribute to its erection, if 
the land could be purchased and secured. Finally, 
we came to St. Botolph's, and the present Vicar, re- 
mote successor to Mr. Cotton, was standing in the 



C2 NOTES m ENGLAND. 

Close, talking with some one, and Mr. P brought 

him to us and introduced him, after having whispered 
who papa was. This vicar was not venerable, like 
the vicar of Wakefield, but a young man, of the most 
comfortable aspect you can conceive — soft, round, 
with a rather pale and comely, but full face, snowy, 
large, handsome teeth — spotless white cravat, fine 
black coat, and hands that looked like bishops — so 
plump, smooth, and fair. Really, the chief shep- 
herds of this English fold are as well to do as the 
fleecy sheep and lambs I see grazing by hundreds in 
the meadows. They testify to sumptuous fare, and 
wear fine linen every day. With a refined and culti- 
vated expression, they yet remind one of the jolly 
w^orld and clay — wine, oil, and easy-chairs. This 

Rev. G. P. S. Q. L. B (though I forget exactly 

how many names he has) politely received us, and 

invited us into his beautiful church, and Mr. P • 

bade us farewell. 

Mr. B was so courteous that he showed us 

the church himself, instead of putting us under the 
guidance of a verger ; and when he had gone quite 
round, and told us everything, he most considerately 
departed, and left us to enjoy ourselves as long as 
we pleased. 

-X- ^ * * -Jf 

Just as we were entering the southern porch, the 
organ was sighing like an Eolian, with a wonderful 
effect of spirit-voices. The organist was practising. 
The impression which the whole interior made upon 



OLD BOSTON AND ST. BOTOLPIFS. 03 

me at once was of perfect and comprehensible 
beauty. It could all be included in a glance, though 
it measures two hundred and fifty feet from the west 
front to the chancel east window. The organ is 
most happily placed at the side, so that there is a 
clear sweep of view from one extremity to the other. 
What a pity that it is not so with the vast cathe- 
drals ! If I were Queen of England, I would have 
every organ moved from the arches of the choirs. 
At the western front, one enters the bell-tower — the 
grand tower, three hundred feet high, and seen at 
sea forty miles away. There is a stone roof, sculp- 
tured just beneath the lantern, in which hangs the 
bell. Standing beneath this lofty roof, we looked 
upon a space which may be called a lesser transept, 
before the columns of the nave begin, with a door 
right and left, south and north ; and exactly in the 
centre of this space, stands a font of stone, richly 
sculptured, raised on a very broad pedestal of three 
wide, spreading steps. Over it hangs a coronal of 
gold and blue, a light, airy chandelier of fine tracery, 
in two or three concentric circles, climbing into a 
spiral form. 

There are, I think, seven columns on each side of 
the nave, and above them fourteen windows in the 
clerestory, whose pointed arches are trefoil-headed. 
The roof of the aisles then slopes downward from 
the nave, and there are seven much larger and loftier 
windows, which pierce the sides north and south. 
The choir has some oak tabernacle-work, stalls, and 



61 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 

ancient carved seats, made very uncomfortable for 
monks, so that if they gi^ew a little sleepy, and were 
not very watchful, they would be sure to tumble 
down with a crash. These seats are elaborately 
sculptured beneath, with droll devices. One is a 
group of naughty school-boys, driven by a master, 
with a whip. One is a bouquet of cats and monkeys 
playing together. Under some grins Apollyon. 
The backs of them and the terminals are carved 
with every variety of head, and flower, and animal, — 
no two alike. They often end in lovely quirls, or in 
angels or cherubim, mixing up heaven and hell in 
the strangest way. " Eat, drink, and be merry, for 
to-morrow we die," the monks seemed to say with 
their chisels. Sometimes the back of a stall endeav- 
ors to run oif in this manner. 

While I was sitting in the choir, papa and J 

mounted to the top of the grand tower, and a verger 
hovered round, who had previously been paid a 
shilling to let me alone. Presently the chief organ- 
ist came in, and I told the verger I wished he would 
play ; and he replied that he had come to give a 
lesson to the lady organist. But I saw him w^hisper 
to him, and while I was trying to sketch the eastern 
v/indow, after the lesson was over, my musician 
kindly burst forth in a magnificent symphony, which 
made all the saints and apostles radiate brighter 
light, and live and breathe. The verger declared 
he was the best organist in the country, and I was 
not inclined to dispute it. 



OLD BOSTON AND ST. BOTOLDIL'S. G5 

The chancel is -ancommonly beautiful. The cast 
window is filled with painted glass, well designed, 
and of superb hues. The middle light represents 
first Jesse, in crimson and blue, sitting at the lowest 
point, as the root of David. Above him stands 
Mary, holding the infant Jesus, with Joseph at her 
side. Above is Christ upon the cross ; and highest 
is Christ in glory, crowned and sceptred, as Judge 
and King. All the lights on each side are filled 
with apostles and saints, and also David. The 
pointed, trefoiled and quatrefoiled headed arch over 
all looks studded with jewels ; but upon examina- 
tion these are found to be the heavenly host, in the 
centre of whom stands the arcliangel Michael, 
trampling upon the Dragon. I do not know why 
the effect of the tints of this great window is golden, 
yet the choir glows with a sort of permanent sun- 
shine, which is peculiar to St. Botolph's. Now I 
think of it, it may be that the windows on each side 
are filled with yellow stained-glass, and it is a lovely 
idea thus to make perpetual sunny radiance over 
the altar, whatever the weather may be. 

The perpendicular lights contain Christ, Mary, 
and saints. The altar beneath the window is sump- 
tuous with crimson velvet and gold, and a heavily 
carved oaken chair stands on each side of it. And 
before the chancel is a low screen of blue and gold, 
a kind of brass work, extremely light. Within are 
two candelabras of the same material and fairy 
workmanship, and others like them are placed all 



66 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 

about tlie church, and, with the coronal over the 
font, look wonderfully beautiful, when lighted. This 
dehcate blue and gold also goes up the pulpit stairs 
and balusters, looking like a rich fringe with tas- 
sels ; but upon approaching it, I found it was rigid 
metal. 

There are two alabaster monuments, one support- 
ing a knight spurred, with his helm under his head 
as a pillow, and the other his wife. The noses of 
these figures have been restored, and also their 
fingers, and the vicar has a great ambition to adorn 
his church, and intends to have all the windows re- 
filled with painted glass. He is very young, and 
may live to see much accomplished. There is at the 
door a strong box, for the reception of a restoring 
fund, and I trust it will be a perpetual bank. 

The nave is full of carved oaken seats, unlike 
cathedrals, and the pulpits are in the midst of them, 
instead of being in the choir. Botolph's town was 
so called from a monastery erected to that saint in 
634, which the Danes destroyed in 870. On its site 
this church was built in 1309. Fox, avIio wrote the 
" Booli of Martyrs," was born in Boston. We have 
the book, but it is too dreadful for you to read. We 
walked round the small chapel in which Cotton's 
memorial window is to be placed, but there is only 
one grave-stone in it, and that is upon the floor. It 
is in fine proportion, and has a noble western win- 
dow. Papa and J were tired of waiting for me, 

and when I was ready to go out I found the gate of 



OLD BOSTON AND ST. BOTOLPWS. G7 

the door locked fast ! I was in a gorgeous cage, but 
felt very uncomfortable not to have my freedom, 
and stood shaking the bars till the clang roused the 
verger who was outside, and he laughed merrily at 
having fastened me in. As he had been paid to let 
me alone, I suppose he did not dare tell me he must 
go away. 

The organ was still murmuring melodiously as I 
left the southern porch, as if St. Botolph were sing- 
ing Vespers. 

On my walk home, I saw a lovely ruined Abbey 
at a printseller's, and bought it for you to copy some 
time. It is Growl and Abbey, which I hope to visit, 
as it is near Peterboro, where we go next. 

In the afternoon of Tuesday (26th) we walked out ; 
but I felt tired, and after looking at the old Guild- 
hall, an exceedingly interesting building, with a fine 
mullioned v/indow, and three gurgoyles rushing tu- 
multuously from each side and the point of the arch, 
I concluded to go back to the Peacock, and take an 
open barouche, to drive about with Julian. Papa, 
you know, hates to drive, and prefers to wander 
without purpose. We therefore returned, and I or- 
dered a light phaeton, which proved delightfully easy, 
and I told the coachman to go round every part of 
Boston, and then into the suburbs. Y/e had a 
charming excursion, and old Boston reminded one 
of the oldest parts of New Boston — those parts 
which are antique and tumble-down, at the North 
End. There is scarcely a handsome house in tlie 



68 NOTES m ENGLAND. 

town, but many quaint ones, with overhanging 
brows ; and in the suburbs we saw an enchanting 
House of Seven Gables, which, being all covered with 
perennial ivy, looked as the one described in the 
book would look, if ascended into the heavenly 
Paradise. It was sumptuously rich and beautiful, 
and I wish I could have sketched it. 

We passed the new cemetery, in which stood two 
strangely-shaped edifices, I suppose for the reading 
of the burial-service ; but I can compare them to 
nothing but camelopards — giraffes. 

■«• -jf ^ ^ -jf * 

*' The Peacock" is such an aged bird, and really 
there is no end to its tail, though it is not quite so 
long as the neck of the Saracen's Head in Lincoln, 
which, you know, I told you was miles in length. 

The solemn waiter has not smiled yet, because he 
never will nor can ; but, despite his ungraciousness, 
I think we have felt particularly at home in Boston. 
We have had the Queen's weather, and all the ladies 
are in muslins. 



lY. 
PETEEBOKO CATHEDEAL. 

Peterboro, May 28 th. 

We left Boston at lialf-past twelve, and our route 
was tlirougli still a flat country, covered with lambs, 
buttercups, and white heifejs. There is a great pre- 
ponderance of white cows in this region, perfectly 
white, and the young heifers are beautifuL We 
passed through Kirton, and thereabouts was a storm 
of apple-blossoms, and the hawthorn trees and 
bushes, in great profusion, were in the fullest bloom. 
I never saw so much hawthorn bloom before in 
England. We saw very many of the prettiest little 
colts in the world, trotting gently beside their 
mothers, with a singularly modest air, as if they felt 
rather delicate about being seen on their new legs. 
There is always something very refined in the man- 
ner of a colt. 

We stopped a moment at Sutterton and Surfleet, 
and crossed the river Glen, one of England's narrow 
ribbons of rivers, and then came to Pinchbeck, 
where I presume that the metal called pinchbeck- 



70 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 

gold was invented. We saw the outside of a fine 
old church, which I wish we could have entered. 
Indeed, I should dearly love to go into ever}^ one of 
these old village churches, for I have no doubt they 
are extremely interesting, and with strange histories 
and monuments. We passed one quite closely, and 
there were some funny gurgoyles upon it in the 
shape of imps, with elbows pressed on the buttresses 
(in default of sides), as if they said, " Now for it ! off 
we go," in the act of springing ; but yet forever held 
fast in stone. It is an extraordinary idea of these 
gothic architects to give this rushing-away, active 
expression to the centuries-enduring, fixed stone. I 
wonder if it is an image or emblem of the hopeless 
longing of the monks to escape from their thraldom. 
I have a singular desire to break the bonds of these 
headlong gurgoyles, and let them go. They have 
such an impetus in their motion, that it seems as 
they would shoot out of all human vision in a 
second, if they were freed. Did you ever observe 
those on the roof of Henry the Seventh's chapel in 
Westminster Abbey ? 

We now came to Deeping Fen, which perhaps 
means, the fenniest of fens. It was, however, 
adorned with a great deal of beautiful rose-haw- 
thorn in perfect bloom. * * * England is just now 
in fullest blossom — fruit-trees, May-flowers, purple 
and white Persian lilacs, like plumes, so soft and 
delicate, and everywhere the graceful, yellow labur- 
num, dropping gold ; also, of course, the greenest of 



i 



rETEHBORO CATHEDRAL. 71 

grass, as if it had been that moment washed in a 
shower — so that though the land was flat, there was 
much about it most grateful to the eyes. I observed 
that a great many lambs had been taken for a pur- 
pose I will not name, so that the dams had but one 

child apiece, instead of their rightful two. J 

undertook to wonder how each lamb could know its 
own mother ! 

When we arrived at Peakirk and Croyland, we 
regretted our tickets were not for Croyland, for, in 
that case, we might have stayed there all night, and 
seen the abbey. As it was, we kept on to Peter- 
boro. The Railway Hotel being directly upon the 
station, we walked into it. I immediate^ looked 
out of the windows to find a glimpse of the cathe- 
dral, and I saw a portion of the western fa§ade and 
pinnacles, and the top of a mighty arch. 

After dinner we took a walk. Peterboro is a 
very small town gathered in front of its glorious 
minster. It is the cathedral, and nothing else. We 
soon came to the market-place, on one side of which 
is the Guildhall, now used for a butter-shop, beneath 
the lower pillars. Opposite to it is a stone gate- 
way, which is the entrance to the Close. As we en- 
tered the Close, the world seemed shut out, as it 
always does inside these monastic retreats. Eter- 
nal peace is within their gates, and upon me the ef- 
fect of the three vast arches of the western facade 
was more sublime and magnificent than that of any 
architecture I have yet seen in England. I was 



72 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 

wliolly unprepared for the vastness and splendor of 
this church. No one had ever spoken of it to nie, 
and I had never read about it. I believe there is 
no other fagade like this in the country — the arches 
being much higher than that we so wondered at in 
Furness Abbey — three arches, perfectly uniojured. 
I did not know before what a grand power lay in a 
lofty curve, and words can never convey an idea of 
it. The first impression was that those arches had 
more to do with heaven than earth. Though the line 
returns again to the same level from which it rises, 
yet it seems to have been transfigured as it soared 
and sang in its circuit. They are the emblem of a 
saint's soul, whose visible form still exists. He 
stands on the earth, but his spirit has ascended into 
another world, and remains there, in truth, though 
he is yet with us in mortal guise. They are an 
image of endless aspiration in constant rest. 

Between the gateway and the cathedral is a 
pointed entrance into the cloisters which luere, for 
Cromwell's soldiers utterly demolished the cloisters, 
except the inner walls. On these inner walls are 
the remains of broken arches and shafts. The lawn 
is of the loveliest pale green velvet. On its south 
side are some beautiful high arches, dripping with 
wreaths of ivy. If you can recall the banqueting- 
hall of Conway Castle, with its lofty vaultings and 
mullioned windows hung thickly with enormous 
vines of ivy, you will be able to fancy how these 
appear. Entering from a corner, opening through 



PETEEBORO CATUEDllAL. 73 

one of these garlanded arclies from the cloisters, wo 
were in the former refectory of the old Abbey, now 
roofed by the sky and floored with daisies and 
grass. Traces of the Abbey are all about this part 
— clustered pillars, broken arches, — and from these 
we went into the cathedral, by one of the southern 
doors. The service was not quite over, so we Avalked 
quietly up the stately aisle, with its fine, Norman, 
groined roof, nearly eighty feet high. We sat down 
upon a seat in front of the screen of the choir to 
wait for the end of the function, and had hardly 
time to glance at the glories around and above us, 
before a verger came from the dropped curtain be- 
neath the organ, and invited us to go in. The 
prebends and choristers were chanting, and one 
lady and two gentlemen formed the audience ! I 
was struck into amaze by the choir, its effect was 
so gorgeously rich, so loaded with ornament, and 
the chancel so singularly shaped in semicircles, with 
a solid wall nearly to the roof, and then broken into 
superb arches opening upon other arches beyond 
and behind, in the Lady-chapel, of which the ceil- 
ing was intricately sumptuous ; while there were 
glimpses afar of rainbow-glass — mysteries, and fold 
within fold of beauty, revealing remoter beauty 
through the never-ending arcades. Ah me ! what 
can poor mortals do with but two eyes to see out of, 
and so confined a space for the heart to expand in ? 
I was glad when, after the chanting, the precentor 
said " Let us pray," and I closed my dazed orbs 

4 



74 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 

upon all visible things. The " Amen" to the prayers 
was peculiarly beautiful — a fountain of sweet, young 
voices and organ music, rising with a full and ex- 
panding tone through the wilderness of spaces, and 
returning with a soft, closing cadence into silence 
again. 

The chancel of this choir is called an apse, which 
means the rounded end of a church, opposite the 
nave. There is but one other of Norman date in 
England. Directly over the altar, on the roof, is a 
painting of Christ sitting, with all the apostles 
around him, involved in curling lines ; and it is 
written on a scroll which encircles the whole, " I am 
the Yine, and ye are the branches ;" and, " I am the 
Bright and Morning Star." The bishop's throne is 
here very superb, — a little cathedral in itself, of 
cunningly carved oak, flaming into pinnacles. All 
the arches of the apse are profusely decorated above 
the clustered shafts ; and with the pierced, flying 
buttresses and tracery over the windows, and the 
arcades above and beyond one another, I received 
an impression of magnificence which no other choir 
has given me ; though, on account of being smaller, 
it has not the grandeur of that of York Minster. 

After the service was over, there was a great cere- 
mony of waiting for a venerable old Canon to de- 
scend from his stall beneath the organ. All the 
choristers, prebends, minor canons, and the precen- 
tor arranged themselves in a reverent manner, while 
behind stood an ancient verger with a rod in his 



PETERBORO CATHEDRAL. 7.5 

hand. The venerable Canon was lame, which made 
his descent very slow ; but when he came upon tho 
level with his subordinates, he bowed graciously to 
them, and took the precedence in vanishing beneath 
the curtain. It was pleasant and grateful to see 
such deference to infirm age. 

We left the choir on the south side to go and look 
at the altar-,- and we stepped from the door directly 
upon the stone beneath which Mary Queen of Scots 
was buried, after her execution at Fotheringay Cas- 
tle, near Peterboro. Her son James afterward re- 
moved her body to "Westminster Abbey, and you 
know we saw her sarcophagus there, and her lovely 
effigy upon it. In the aisle we met a young verger, 
who offered to show us the cathedral. First he told 
us about Queen Mary's grave, and then we followed 
him into the Lady-chapel. The ceiling of this 
chapel is a specimen of the fan-vaulting, of which I 
caught glimpses through the open arches of the 
choir. What is called the perpendicular style is 
particularly famous for this fan-vaulting, which is 
very splendid. Between the windows these superb 
fans curve over and meet in the centre of the 
roof, almost touching with their scolloped edges. 
It is all of stone. Beneath the thirteen windows is 
a great height before the pavement comes, and this 
space is filled on the east, north, and south sides 
with an arcade. There are seats in these arcades 
all round. The central window is filled with painted 
glass ; but it is modern and not tasteful. There 



76 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 

are six windows over the altar, filled witli what v^-as 
saved of the superb, old colored glass from the de- 
structive hands and guns of Cromwell's soldiers, who 
were in a particular rage with this cathedral, be- 
cause it had been considered the holiest ground in 
England, and kings and cardinals put off their shoes 
when entering its gates. There are but very few 
monuments left. One is very curious, and it is the 
oldest Christian monument now to be seen in tlie 
land. It is of the ninth century, and in memory of 
Abbot Hedda and his monks, who were killed by 
the Danes. It is very rude and worn, and the 
monks are the funniest old frights that were ever 
seen. 

At the northern door of the choir, every one who 
goes in or comes out steps upon the slab over the 
body of Catharine of Aragon, first wife of Henry 
Eighth. She died at Kimbolton Castle, in Hunt- 
ingdonshire, and was buried here. When Henry 
was told that he should build some fair monument 
to her memory, he replied, " Yes, I will leave her 
one of the goodliest in the kingdom," and so he 
spared this superb cathedral ; and no queen has such 
a mausoleum as she, and I hope her proud and in- 
jured spirit was somewhat appeased by it. It was 
late amends for the king to make, but it was right 
royal. There is a shrine near this, thought to be 
that of Saint Ibba, and from the Lady-chapel, all 
along the aisles to the west front, on the walls be- 
neath the windows, are the intersected arches, which 



PETERBOIiO CATHEDRAL. 77 

first suggested the pointed arch. I took great pains 
to draw you some of them, to show you the transi- 
tion steps from Norman to the early English or 
pointed style. The Norman arch is a perfect semi- 
circle, heavy and massive. Doors, windows, and 
arches were all rounded, and the pillars were very 
thick, and the sculptured ornaments bold and rude. 
By degrees the style was enriched with zigzag 
adornments and the chevron; and then came the 
intersected arch. 

The verger then took us into an old chapel, where 
morning prayer was offered ; and there is some ta- 
pestry on the eastern wall, worked by two sister 
nuns before the Reformation. There are two pic- 
tures ; one of Peter and John curing the lame man 
at the gate of the Temple, and it seems to be from 
Eaphael, though altered a little. The other is Pe- 
ter's release from prison ; and the angels who sot 
him free have the most hideous faces imaginable. 
Instead of angels, I should call them devils. A 
Roman soldier sleeps, headless, on one side. This 
chapel is a very old place, with curiously-carved 
screens and doors of almost black oak, it is so time- 
worn. It was a gi^and coujp d'oeil to look from the 
east end of the Lady-chapel to the western transept, 
all along the vaulted aisle, four hundred and twenty- 
two feet ! more than twice as far as Bunker Hill 
monument is high. This image will help you to es- 
timate the distance. The beautiful groined roof of 
the aisles makes an enchanting and noble perspec- 



78 NOTES m EKGLAND. 

tive ; only some foolish bisliop or dean, whose heart 
must have been a whited sepulchre, and who is re- 
corded as not liking rich colors, waslied over the 
tinted barnack- stone, of which the cathedral is 
built, with a yellowish daub, throughout the inside. 
If Dante should award him his punishment, I think 
he would dip him in his lake of pitch of which he 
sings in the "Purgatorio." The verger said there 
were hopes that it would presently be all scraped 
off, and the primal hue restored. 

So now we walked down the mighty nave, with its 
strange and unique roof of painted oak. It is 
marked in lozenge-shaped mosaic, and the inter- 
stices are filled with richly-colored figures and de- 
vices, kings and queens, bishops and abbots, and 
emblematical designs, in extraordinary preservation, 
considering its antiquity. The great transept, north 
and south, is very superb. Its roof is of the same 
character as that of the nave, but not so gorgeous 
in color and device. It is very lofty, and there are 
four stages. First is an arcade on slender piers, 
then a decorated string-course, then an arch, through 
which is seen a window ; then again arches and 
windows to the top. One capital only of all the 
piers is an impish head, spitting out, as it were, the 
shaft from its mouth. Now just fancy this work- 
man, busy with the rest, who were all producing 
plain capitals, and finally showing this funny head, 
not to be altered now. These stone jests are cer- 
tainly very singular. How the sculptor must have 



PETEBBORO CATHEDRAL. 79 

grinned to himself ! The arches supporting the 
tower, which lead into the northern and southern 
parts of the great transept, are glorious in beauty 
and in size, and excel all others in England in these 
characteristics. Thej have the effect of those of 
the western front, and must have been designed by 
the same person. The screen is lovely, and I made 
a sketch which I will draw out for you. * -^ * The 
pavement of the whole cathedral is wonderfully 
joined, so as to look like one piece of stone. The 
columns that support the nave are thirty feet in cir- 
cumference, clustered, wdth Norman arches. 

* * -x- * -x- * 

Coming out, we wandered round the Close. Two 
sculptured stone gates led to gardens on the north- 
ern side. We entered one, and it opened upon the 
burial-ground, which extended quite round to the 
cloisters again, north and east. Fine old trees and 
shrubberies adorned this cemetery, and opposite the 
gate by which we went in was another beautiful 
arch, giving a glimpse into some wonderful Arcadia, 
with a lawn of sunshine-green, a tree of rarest love- 
liness, branching out from the very velvet sward, so 
that the delicately-tinted leaves lay on the grass 
lightly, like the folds of a lady's airy dress ; and it 
rose in perfect proportion, somewhat trained by art, 
into pyramidal tendency, but more flowing in out- 
line than the geometrical figure. Papa w^as particu- 
larly transported with this tree, which I think was a 
beech. Behind it was a grand, dark cedar of Leb- 



80 NOTES m ENGLAND. 

anon, as if set there for contrast and background to 
the beecli. 

The house of the secretary of the Bishop stood 
beyond the cedar — a picturesque building of fawn- 
colored stone, with blooming plants around it, and 
reaches of soft lawn leading to inviting shades far- 
ther on. An avenue of noble trees, each side of 
the smoothest gravel walk, at that moment made 
smoother by a huge stone-roller in the hands of two 
gardeners, led from another arch to the principal 
porch of the house. These trees met in fraternal 
communion overhead, arch within arch, and un- 
broken peace brooded over all. Peace, such as the 
world can never give, seemed established in this 
consecrated retreat. Behind the cemetery there 
was a rookery — for all abbeys have rookeries — and 
th# rooks cawed incessantly ; but they only made 
the peace and silence perceptible or sensible, — ^just 
as the cricket reveals how still the night is — ^just as 
the shadow makes salient the light. 

This was originally a monastic church, founded 
in Q>Q6j and built of such heavy stones that sixteen 
oxen could hardly draw one. Penda was the Mer- 
cian king who commenced it. Yoa know that the 
Mercian kingdom was the largest of the heptarchy, 
and this village, originally called Medeshamstead, 
fi'om a deep gulf called Medes Well, famed for its 
very cold water, is in Northamptonshire. The mon- 
astery of Medeshamstead was afterward finished by 
King AVolfen, and dedicated to St. Peter, and then 



FETEBBORO CATHEDRAL. 81 

the village began to be called Peter Burgh. When 
its abbot was Hedda (in 883), the Danes injured the 
clmrch very much, and it was restored again by the 
Bishop of Winchester, assisted by King Edgar, 974. 
Successive abbots, before and after the Conquest, 
enlarged it ; for these great Minsters grow from age 
to age, like flowers which it takes centuries to un- 
fold. The name of the sublime architect who de- 
signed the west front arches is lost, unless some 
one succeeds in deciphering that vast hieroglyph of 
stone. 

After gazing into the paradise of the Close awhile, 
we again looked at the few remains of the cloisters, 
once illustrious with painted glass in their mullioned 
windows, and walked through the refectory, with its 
majestic arches, festooned with ivy, once, no doubt, 
also radiant with saints and angels in rainbow col- 
ors, and passed through gothic doors into narrow 
lanes, with many ruins, on the way, of the former 
abbey — walls, tithing barns — until we came into 
paths leading by fishponds and streams, perfectly 
dark with overhanging trees, where the monks found 
their Friday dinners and Lenten feasts — until we 
wound our course out into the town, and came 
home. 

May 28th. — This morning we went again to the 
cathedral. The service was over, and we walked 
into the open door beneath one of the western 
arches. There was no one in all the great temple. 

4* 



83 NOTES m ENGLAND. 

We found the door of the Lady-chapel unlocked, 
and every door open, in the most hospitable way — 
so unlike Lincoln. We wandered about at our own 
will and leisure, and there was no sound but of 
our echoing footsteps and the distant cawing of 
rooks. 

I stood again upon Queen Catharine's grave. It 
is bare now, but once a superb canopy hung over it, 
a hearse and velvet pall — as w^ell as over Queen 
Mary's ; but the regiment of horse under Colonel 
Cromwell demolished them, though a part of the 
hearse is preserved somewhere. The painted glass 
was particularly rich at Peterboro, so that the sol> 
diers were dazzled wdth its splendor, and they cried 
out the more furiously that it must be smashed, be- 
cause the idols the monks worshipped were flaring 
on them in their gold and purple. So they stupidly 
shot at the saints and kings, until enough only was 
left to piece out a few "windows in the choir, out of 
all the multitudes of windows full ! The fan-vaulting 
"was more beautiful to me to-day than before, and 
now I recognize of "wdiat it reminds me. Take one 
of the divisions by itself and it looks like a rocket 
falling in stars or flowers, the motion in rest every- 
where suggested. In comparing Gothic with the 
Greek architecture, one is the clear, logical under- 
standing, coming at truth mathematically by the way 
of reason ; and all this range of truth stands beauti- 
ful and sure, on lovely, even pillars, surmounted with 



PETERBORO CATHEDRAL. S3 

square pediments, symmetrical and perfect to tlie 

eye. I think, too, of those lovely faces like A 

G 's, with her brows in a straight hne. And she 

is a person of clear understanding. But the Gothic 
" is of Imagination all compact," " in a fine frenzy 
rolling," glancing from earth to lieaven and heaven 
to earth — a crystallized poet, as it were, of endless 
variety, of scintillating fancy — soaring in "immor- 
tal curves," bafHing geometric conclusions, setting 
known, established rules at defiance, wild beyond 
reach of recognized art, flaming like fire, glowing 
like flowers and rainbows, soaring like birds, strug- 
gling for freedom, and like the soul, never satisfied. 
A cathedral is really an. image of the whole soul of 
man ; and a Greek temple, of his understanding only 
— of just decisions, serene, finished postulates, settled 
axioms. AYe need both. 

Most regretfully we left the mighty Minster, and 
took a last look at the Close. Near the gate leading 
into the secretary's Eden is another, opening upon 
another domain of a Canon or Dean. It had the 
same, but never-wearying sunny lawns, rich shrub- 
bery and flowers, and birds in rapture, all embo- 
somed in the pervading peace. 

In one corner of the Close is Thomas a Becket's 
chapel and shrine, now the chapel-fjchool ; and boys 
with the square-topped Oxford cap, and an immacu- 
late toilet, were standing near — some with books, 
studying. I wondered if they were conscious of the 



S4 ■ NOTES IN ENGLAND. 

place where they were standing, and of what was 
before them. 

"We went into a shop, and bought some engTavings 
of the interior ; but not a drawing that I saw gave 
at all the impression of the gi'andeur and size of the 
fi'ont arches, or of the nave. 

^ ^ ^ ^ ^ "¥ 

Farewell. 




V. 

NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 

Nottingham, May 29tli. 

We left Peterboro yesterday, but I must not omit 

to tell you that J was made perfectly happy 

there by seeing some knights in armor, who had 
come from Astley's in London. They were career- 
ing through the market-place, and they brought 
back to him the days of chivalry and romance, and 
turned common hfe into poetry at once. ^ * -s^- 

We hissed away at about half-past two, and had 
gone but a few miles, when we passed a house 
covered with double roses, in full bloom — May-roses, 
of a lovely crimson, and giving an air of supreme 
elegance to the whole place. They were the first I 
had seen this season, and were the more precious 
for that, and I rendered due homage to the queen 
of flowers. 

We were happy as usual in having the carriage to 
ourselves, and it has been almost invariably the 
case in all our travels. Once a gentleman came into 
our private boudoir, and after sitting a few minutes, 
seemed to be conscious of intruding into domestic 



86 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 

sanctities, and left us again, for which I was much 
obliged to him. This arrangement is very pleasant, 
and somewhat like posting. The great plate-glass 
windows are as good as the air to look through, and 
one can have the prospect without dust. We passed 
the toA^Ti of Tallington, and the country began to be 
less flat, and rich and beautiful. 

The hawthorn-trees hereabout were enormous — 
as large as the largest horse-chestnuts ! — and so 
loaded with bloom, that each one seemed to have 
had a separate snow-storm upon it. There was a 
station at Bytham also ; and near this the grounds 
of Lord Willoughby d'Eresby stretched down to the 
track, and were exceedingly stately, and most dain- 
tily cared for. Picturesque old villages abounded 
as we went on — clusters of ancient cottages, gathered 
lovingly about a pretty church, which was often a 
gem of beauty. No doubt many of these are of 
remote antiquity, and the cottages often looked to 
have grown around them, mossy and lichened, and 
not to have been built by man at all. At last we 
came to Grantham, and as we were to remain an 
hour, we left the carriage, and walked into the town, 
because Sir Isaac Newton wont to the grammar- 
school there. There was an old market-cross, with 

several well-worn steps leading to it, which J 

ran up, in memory of Sir Isaac, for no doubt he had 
stood and played on them many a time. We wan- 
dered on to a church, which seemed beautiful afar 
off, and proved very much so near by. It had a 



NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 87 

lofty spire, two hundred and seventy-three feet high, 
and painted windows, of which I should have liked 
to see the right side ; but we had not time to get 
admittance. It contains a curious font also. Gran- 
tham had a monastery once, and there are ruins of 
it, which I wish we could have searched out. The 
Angel Inn was a strange old place, approached by 
an arched entrance, and we should have enjoyed 
staying at it all night. The inns have singular 
names, and were all blue — the Blue Ram, the Blue 
Lion, the Blue Horse, the Blue Man, the Blue Cow, 
the Blue Bear — and so on through the animal king- 
dom, and I marvel it is not the Blue Angel as well. 

Our way was over a sumptuous country now, and 
for a great many miles we saw afar, on a high hill, 
Belvoir Castle, the residence of the Duke of Rut- 
land, a magnificent structure, and it must be of vast 
size, it looked so extensive at a distance. Towers 
and turrets were numerous enough to supply a small 
town. I wish his Grace could have received us ; 
for he possesses one of the most valuable galleries 
of pictures in England. 

On we hastened through Sedgebrook ai.d Battis- 
ford, where was an exquisite little church, — then to 
Elton and Astlockton, where a gentleman intruded 
upon our family circle. He was a peculiar-looking 
man indeed, and as he sat directly opposite to me 
for many miles, I could not but see him well, so that 
his face was stereotyped upon my retina ; his eye- 
brows were lifted into a high Norman arch, crump- 



83 NOTES IX ENGLAND. 

ling his forehead into ribs, like the sea-sand after 
the ebb of the tide. His collar was like a carving 
of marble, so stiff and polished, and his toilet was 
altogether elaborate and \vithout fault ; but frozen, 
like the wonder in his face. What could be his his- 
tory ? I was inclined to exclaim to this persistent, 
unmitigated look : " Beally, my dear sir, it is not, I 
assure you, so very surprising. Pray compose your 
mind and smooth your brow, and regard the matter 
with a reasonable degree of indifference." 

Meanwhile we steamed into Bingham, which pos- 
sessed one of the prettiest of churches, and herds of 
perfectly white cows. And now we had left Leices- 
tershire and entered Nottinghamshire, and so into 
Nottingham. We asked the guard which was the 
best hotel, and he strongly recommended the May- 
pole as " a hotel every one admired," so the driver 
was ordered to take us there. It was close bv the 
market-place, through an alley, and did not look 
inviting at all. I feared it was a pot-house, and 
fortunately they had not room, so we drove to the 
George the Fourth, which the coachman said was 
the first in town. It has no show outside, but, like 
the " Clarendon" in London, it proves within the 
nicest one we have chanced upon. Our waiter is 
unexceptionable. He would on no account smile 
unseasonably, but it is very evident that he can 
smile in a decorous manner, at the right time. 
Everything is quiet and elegant, and the table per- 
fect in style and quality. 



^''EW3TEAI) ABBEY. 81) 

This morning we took a cabriolet, and droTc to 
Newstead Abbey. It was a fair day, with dim sun- 
shine and no wind. I had never associated Lord 
Byron with Nottingham, and yet I could think of no 
one else after I arrived here. No doubt he came 
here often, as it is the nearest town to the Abbey of 
any size. As we drove on toward Newstead, we had 
a view of Nottingham Castle, and nothing else of 
interest, till we got within the precincts of Sherwood 
Forest. This was poetical ground. Eichard the 
Lion-hearted, jolly Friar Tuck, the king of outlaws, 
and all the merry-men were then in my mind's eye, 
though there are now no thickets or century-trees, 
but new growths of pine and beech. Newstead Ab- 
bey was once all surrounded with Sherwood Forest, 
and when we came within its boundaries, there were 
fine old trees left standing among the younger 
growth. Generall}^ the Newstead forests were ex- 
ceedingly gloomy in aspect. There was a great- 
uncle of Lord Byron, called " the wicked Lord," who 
was the terror of the country, and it seemed as if 
his ruthless spirit darkened the woods, and as there 
was no subsequent light nor joy in the fortunes or 
character of the family, the heavy, motionless ever- 
greens looked like stern froTSTis of doom, and fixed 
clouds of melancholy fate. 

We drove ten miles, and then drew up at a small, 
nice-looking little inn, called "The Hut," and our 
coachman averred that he was not allowed to take 
us any farther into the private park. I supposed 



90 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 

we should liave but a short walk to the Abbey, and 
so was nothing loth to leave the carriage. We un- 
latched the hospitable gate (Colonel Wildman being 
a very kind and open-handed gentleman), and wan- 
dered along the broad avenue, winding over undu- 
lating ground, at first through woodland scenery, 

floored with violets, which J began diligently 

to gather for memorials, and then to open hunting- 
grounds, covered mth ferns, — coverts for small 
game ; then again to woodlands. We went on and 
on, I looking, at first, to see the towers of the Abbey 
on some eminence, forgetting that religious houses 
were always hidden in vales, — indeed forgetting that 
I^ewstead Abbey ever was a religious house, till I was 
reminded. Presently a light gig came up behind us, 
with a lady and gentleman and little boy. We were 
astonished at this, because we had been led to sup- 
pose that no vehicle was allowed to approach in 
that way. They passed us ; but stopped at an in- 
ner gate, which we now saw ahead, and the lady 
alighted, and the gentleman and boy returned. The 
lady climbed up a steep path on the left, evidently 
to obtain a view of the place, and we entered the 
gate, trusting now that we were near, for I was foot- 
weary. 

Soon we saw a gleam of water, and a small flag 
flying from a tower. This is a sign always in Eng- 
land that the family is at home. When we arrived 
at the lawn before the front, I was surprised that 
the Abbey ^^'as not much larger. I had imagined a 



NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 91 

very extensive range of buildings, and a broad, glit- 
tering lake before tliem. But a wide lawn inter- 
venes between tlie house and a small lake, near 
which are the stables, a row of low, stone, castel- 
lated edifices. On the lawn we met an old man, 
who said we had only to ring at the porch-bell, and 
some one would admit us. A small footman wel- 
comed us with a smile and cordial " O yes" when 
we requested entrance, so that it was plain what the 
master's spirit was about receiving guests. We en- 
tered a low gallery, with a groined stone roof, rising 
from thick pillars, like the columns and arches of a 
crypt. There was a boat of light material and con- 
struction on the pavement, and I meant to ask what 
its history was, but entirely forgot it. Heavy oak- 
carved chairs stood against one side, and everything 
was scrupulously exact and ordered. After the boy 
left us, it was some time before we saw any one, but 
at last a highly respectable dame appeared, and 
after requesting us to write our names in the visit- 
ors' book, she preceded us up-stairs. And the very 
first room she ushered us into was Lord Bj-ron's 
bedchamber, precisely as he left it, excepting that a 
table, and a huge ewer on a stand, have been added 
to the furniture. I do not know what some of our 
fashionable young, men of fortune in America would 
say to the plain and simple arrangement and uphol- 
stery of the noble lord's private apartment. An 
oriel window, the only one, commanded the lawn, 
water, and woods beyond. Two large arm-chairs, 



92 NOTES UT ENGLAND. 

covered with embroidered silk, stood on each side, 
and I sat down in one ; and I endeavored to believe 
that I was really there, sitting exactly where the 
poet sat, my eyes resting on the same landscape 
which his had so often dwelt upon. Over the man- 
telpiece was a looking-glass, into which I gazed, for 
it was the very same at which he dressed his hya- 
cinthine locks, and met his own melancholy, defying 
eyes. Prints of the colleges of Cambridge hung on 
the walls. There was not a luxury nor an adorn- 
ment of any kind to be seen in the room, and no 
attempt at any unusual comfort or ease ; but it is 
just a chamber with bed, toilet, chairs, tables, 
washstand, in ordinary style, not even large. Next 
to it is a smaller room, where his lordship's page 
slept, and once there was no access to it, excepting 
from his own ; but now Colonel Wildman has cut a 
door into it from the corridor. This page's apart- 
ment is the famous haunted one, where the ghost of 
a monk was often seen. It has a deep window, the 
thickness of the walls causing an embrasure of sev- 
eral feet ; but otherwise there is nothing remarkable 
about it. It is left, like Lord Byron's, just as it was 
in his time. In the corridor, leading to these two 
chambers, hung two pictures, — one of Murray, the 
faithful, attached servant of his lordship, and the 
other of his fencing-master. The face of old Murray 
is very interesting ; he looks good and loving, and 
it is an excellent painting. We lingered about this 
part a long time. An uneasy feehng of sadness was 



NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 03 

caused by the sense of his former prosi nco ; fur 
there was no peace nor true happiness in him at 
any time, and so the mysterious Od left by his foot- 
steps, his touch, his glance, his life, must impart a 
sense of unrest and gloom. It was pleasant to see 
the kind face of the old servant, who loved him so 
devotedly that it proved a power in Byron of deeply 
attaching others to him, when in a simple relation to 
them. I doubt not he had a warm and fiery heart, 
wretchedly embittered by the circumstances of his 
early life, which only cultivated the evil in him, and 
by no chance unfolded and increased the good ; and 
he died in early manhood, attempting to do a gen- 
erous deed. 

Leaving this most interesting part of the Abbey, 
the housekeeper led us into all the state chambers 
of the former Abbots, now most sumptuously re- 
stored, and made delightfully comfortable and habit- 
able by Colonel Wildman. One is Charles the Sec- 
ond's chamber, another Henry the Seventh's, another 
Richard the Second's — either because these several 
kings had occupied them aforetime, or because their 
portraits are in them. There are fine portraits by 
Sir Peter Lely aud Holbein of these kings and their 
queens, and of other remarkable persons of the ago 
of those painters. I was particularly arrested by a 
portrait of Charles the Second, which was hung in 
his chamber. It was not the dark, animated, force- 
ful face I have always seen and become acquainted 
with ; but it was pale, haggard, thin, joyless, and 



94 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 

worn, as if lie had exhausted all his human life, and 
saw no happy future before him of rest and blessed- 
ness. It also had, singularly, a more kingly look 
than any other, and resembled, more than any other, 
the right royal head and air of his unfortunate 
father. A portrait of Henry the Eighth, by Holbein, 
was unspeakably ugly and jolly, with eyes as small 
as a pig's, and with no better expression. He was 
unwise to sit for his portrait, when he had become 
so much swallowed up in his body that he could 
scarcely see out of it. I almost think that Herr 
Hans Holbein revenged himself at this sitting for 
having been obliged to paint the " Defender of the 
Faith" so many times, and hoped to cure his majesty 
of the desire to be repeated again. Artists have, to 
be sure, a terrible power in their hands. Richard 
the Second looked like a fool in the picture, but it 
was not a master who executed that. In all these 
rooms were superbly carved cabinets, chairs, and 
tables ; and in one was a cabinet, toilet, and look- 
ing-glass which belonged to Queen Elizabeth, very 
rich, with plate-glass mirrors all over them, mounted 
with gold. They were magnificent. Every fireplace, 
or rather all the woodwork over them, was cut into 
the most extraordinary heads, in high relief, and 
some half-figures seemed starting horizontally out 
of the wall, and both figures and heads were bril- 
liantly colored and gilded. They were portraits 
generally, and were there in monkish days. The 
efi'ect was gorgeous, bat, upon examination, the 



NEW STEAD ABBEY. 95 

Avorlv wfis not superior. Gobelin tapestry of tlie 
finest kind, beautiful and finished as paintiugs, 
covered the walls. One tapestry face, in a little 
boudoir belonging to Henry the Seventh's chamber, 
was one of the loveliest I ever beheld anywhere. I 
have never before seen such Gobelin tapestry as 
that. One of the beds was hung with it, but wrought 
with silk, not wool. In every room was a centre- 
table, furnished with every convenience for sitting 
down to write, — so tempting, that one could hardly 
resist doing so. 

While we were standing in Henry the Seventh's 
chamber, the housekeeper said that when Lady Love- 
lace, Lord Byron's daughter, came to Newstead, two 
years' before her death, she slept in that room. She 
said Lady Lovelace asked of Colonel Wildman a great 
many questions about her father, and I washed to 
hear everything she could tell me ; but she had not 
much to say. The lady stayed three days. 

" Ada ! sole daughter of my house and heart !" 

There were a great many corridors of polished 
oak, dangerous to walk over. These had richly- 
carved chairs, and couches, and cabinets, and one 
was adorned with two chairs and a sofa that had be- 
longed to Charles the Second. They were of ebony, 
sculptured into flowers. 

I think we next went into the library, a long, 
rather narrow, and charming apartment, with study 
tables dispersed through its whole length, delightful 



96 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 

lounges, and deep cliairs to nestle into, with precious 
books ; and above all the bookcases hung fine pic- 
tures by Sir Peter Lely. One was of Nelly Gwynn 
(a famous person in the time of Charles II.). She is 
exceedingly beautiful in this portrait, with small, 
graceful head, and perfect features, a mouth pout- 
ing with lovely curves and coral red, and cheeks 
like roses, and everj- line of face and form delicate. 
There were also marble busts upon the bookcases, 
one of Lord Byron, and some of other poets and of 
philosophers. From all the windows of the state- 
chambers and library, the landscape was a picture 
not painted by human hand, combining wood, lawn, 
gardens, and water, in every variety of beauty. It 
was to the state dining-room we went next, formerly 
the dormitory of the Abbey. Now, it is a superb 
hall, panelled with rich oak — military w^eapons, 
corselets, helmets, stags' heads disposed around — a 
vast chandelier in the centre, and gauntleted hands 
and arms thrusting themselves out on every side, 
each one gi'asping a vase-shaped, ground-glass 
socket for holding a large wax-candle. In the up- 
per portion of each arched window was painted 
glass, commemorative of Colonel Wildman's and his 
brother's war -triumphs. At one end of the hall 
stood a knight in complete armor. Opposite was a 
gallery for a music-band, sculptured in oak, with 
Gothic panels and a carved balustrade, making a 
magnificent effect. Lord Byron used this room for a 
shooting-gallery. The C;)lonel must have a fine per- 



NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 97 

ccptive taste and a vivid sense of fitness, for every- 
tbiug he has done seems to be the work of past ages, 
with a new poHsh on it. From this large and stately 
banqueting-hall, we went into Lord BjTon's dining- 
room. It is exactly as he left it, one or two things 
added ; but nothing taken away. There stands his 
very dining-table, rather low, but of tolerable size, 
A\here he sat and passed round the grim drinking- 
cup, made of a skull, and mounted with silver. 
There hangs the picture of his faithful dog Boat- 
swain, one of the few friends who never disappointed 
him. The same chairs remain, and the wine-coolers 
and the sideboard ; but over the sideboard, where, 
in Lord Byron's life, there was a door, a great mir- 
ror is now inserted in the wall, so as to brighten and 
reflect the room. The ceiling is heavy and lower 
than in other parts of the Abbey, and it is very plain 
and simple in its furniture and arrangement, and 
there is but one window. It must have been very 
gloomy, and the kind Colonel felt as if he must give 
it another bright spot. As the mirror is opposite 
the window, it repeats it, and gives unexpected 
light, besides making the room appear twice as 
large. 

The drawing-room came next, and there hangs the 
famous and authentic portrait of the poet, very hand- 
some, and yet not so handsome as my fine mezzo- 
tint makes him out to be. That shows a faultless 
head and face ; but this true likeness, though intel- 
lectual, noble, proud, and sensitive, is not quite as 

5 



98 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 

symmetrical and Olympian as my old print. The 
eyes are not so large, the mouth not so Apollo-like, 
the brow not so spacious and throne-like. This has 
the clustering hair and beautiful throat, however. 

WilHam of Orange and his Queen Mary also are 
there, and several portraits of the Wildman family, 
and full-lengths of the Duke of Sussex and of George 
III., and of a stern and fierce lord, with a child, 
whose pale, thin, gentle, sweet face, makes wonder- 
ful contrast with that of his father. The father 
holds a stick over the head of the boy, and the 
housekeeper told us that with that stick he strack 
his child upon the head so violently, in a passion, 
that he became an idiot for the rest of his life. This 
seemed to me quite a fit picture for the Byron halls : 
for Lord Byron's mother was so passionate, that she 
would strike him with tongs, or shovel, or whatever 
she could find. 

All kinds of rich and sumptuous furniture and or- 
naments were lavished about this vast drawing-room. 
Cabinets of turquoise-shell and ebony, and turquoise 
and silver ; but nothing interesting as connected 
with Byron, excepting the far-famed skull cup. This 
skull Mrs. Shepherd took with great care out of a 
cabinet, and I held it in my hand a little while. A 
grim and ghastly goblet indeed it is. 

Before this, we had been into the chapel, a very 
small, but lofty apartment, most comfortably ar- 
ranged for the family. Up a few steps, on one side, 
is a thickly-carpeted dais or gallery, where Colonel 



NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 99 

Wilclman sits witli liis relatives and friends. Even 
a fireplace is there, to make it entirely luxurious. 
Below sit the servants and tenants. I cannot recon- 
cile myself into this division of human beings into 
high and low, rich and poor, noble and simple, in a 
house of prayer and worship of the one loving 
Father, who is no respecter of persons. In this the 
Catholics behave more like humble Christians than 
the Protestants. 

This room was once the Abbot's Holy Place ; but 
Lord Byron had used it for a dog-kennel, until Colo- 
nel Wildman restored it to its original purpose. 
There is now a dim, religious light in it, and a quiet 
which makes it seem like a sacred spot. Divine 
service is regularly performed there now. 

The cloisters are all perfectly in repair and sur- 
round a quadrangle, which contains a fine stone 
fountain, that once stood in the gardens. Various 
strange and monstrous beasts are sculptured on it, 
and probably they once spouted water. It is a very 
ancient work, a memorial of the monks of past time, 
who were, perhaps, the artists, and they amused 
themselves with cutting out the most fantastic forms 
and heads. It was removed into this small, snug 
quadrangle to keep it safe. The utmost ruin pre- 
vailed when Colonel Wildman purchased the de- 
mesne ; but now every mullion is restored, every 
broken stone replaced. One of his nephews is his 
heir, and will inherit all this. The present Lord 
Byron is a cousin of the poet, and belongs to Her 



100 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 

Majesty's household ; but though he and other 

members of the family often visit Newstead, they no 

longer have any right to it. 

* -x- * * * * 

Now we were again in the crypt-like entrance-hall, 
and the housekeeper said that if we wished to see 
the gardens, we should gain admittance by ringing 
a bell, just round the tower. -^ -^ ^ ^"e were first 
led over the grounds which Colonel Wildman has 
brought from a wilderness and pasture into lovely 
lawns, shrubberies and woodlands of all varieties of 
form. 

In our way we came to a well, which the man 
called " the Holy Well," and at that moment ap- 
peared a Httle boy with a crystal cup, and he dipped 
up for us the pure cold water, and we drank of it. 
There were very aged yew-trees, also, and I asked a 
cutting fi'om one of them for a memorial. The gar- 
dener said that the long, straight path near the 
pond was one of the monks' promenades. Tunaing 
to the right from this comparative wilderness, we 
went along an avenue of trees into a garden, called 
" the garden of the wicked Lord." In the centre of 
the principal walk were two statues, one of Pan, and 
the other the guide called, strangely enough, " Pan- 
dora after her fall." Pan looks very jolly, with his 
reed pipe, his hoofs and his horn, and " Pandora 
after her fall" responds with a broad grin and cor- 
respondent hoofs. These works of art are made of 
lead, and were brought fi'om Italy by " the wicked 



NEW8TEAD ABBEY. 101 

Lord," and when tliej were seen by tlie people, tliey 
excited great horror and fear, for they believed them 
to be Mr. and Mrs. Satan, embodiments of their 
Lord's wickedness. The form of the fallen Pandora 
is very beautiful, and her hands exceedingly lady- 
like. But we were taken to this avenue especially 
to see the twin trees, upon one of which Byron cut 
his name when he was last at Newstead — his own 
name and that of his sister Augusta. This tree, so 
precious to all who value the poet, has withered from 
the root, I believe. At any rate, the trunk is sawed 
off a few inches above the inscription, and a bit of 
india-rubber cloth is carefully tied over the place. 
The twin tree flourishes finely, so that the doom of 
the race involves the other, with the illustrious name. 
Colonel Wildman thought once of putting the por- 
tion that has such a melancholy interest into a glass 
case, so as to preserve it more effectually ; but the 
old gardener told him he had better let it stay in its 
original position ; for it would be more valuable to 
all who came to see it, to stand on the spot his lord- 
ship stood upon when he carved it, and that it would 
certainly last as it is now during the Colonel's own 
life. So it remains. When Barnum, the American 
showman, came, he sent into the house to request 
Colonel Wildman to sell it to him for five hundred 
pounds ! The gardener took the message, and the 
Colonel returned word that he would not take five 
thousand for it, and suggested that the man who 
proposed such a monstrous thing should be shot. 



102 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 

We then entered anotlier garden, in wliicli is an 
old clematis vine clinging round a tree, and the vine 
is as large in circumference as the trunk of a com- 
mon tree, and seems all resolved into threads. But 
it is alive, and the gardener said no man living could 
tell its age. 

Looking up from this endlessly old clematis, I 
saw at an oriel window of the Abbey, looking earn- 
estly out, an elderly gentleman, and Mrs. Shepherd 
by his side. It was Colonel Wildman, trying to see 
his guest, whose name he had read in the visitors' 
book. 

In an open lawn, near the house, stands the 
storied oak planted by Byron. It is trimmed bare, 
far out of reach of human hands ; and when I asked 
the gardener for some leaves, he exclaimed, " Oh, I 
daren't." He was forbidden to touch it. We saw 
also the grave of his lordship's dog. Boatswain. 
There is a monument erected over it, consisting of 
a broad platform or pedestal of several steps, upon 
which is placed an urn upon a column, and on one 
side of the column is a long inscription. Byron 
intended that his sister, Augusta Leigh, old Murray, 
and himself, should be buried there with the dog, 
when he erected this mausoleum ; but the dog re- 
mains alone, and Lord Byron's tomb is in Hucknal] 
church. 

The last thing the old gardener did was to lead us 
into a cellar -like apartment, containing a large stone 
piscina, where the monks used to wash their hands. 



NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 103 

It was a part of the clmrcli once ; and from it we went 
into the nave, which now has the sky for its roof, 
and grass for its pavement. Choir, chancel, all is 
gone utterly, except the beautiful west front, which 
is in a line with the front of the Abbey, and has a 
noble arched window in the centre. Beneath it is 
the great door, and two smaller arched openings on 
each side, all richly hung and garlanded with ivy, 
springing from roots as large round as my arm, or 
even waist. I asked for a bit of this reverend vine, 
and had permission to take what I would. The 
effect of the ivy is lovely, as one stands before the 
fagade, on the lawn. Fancy a decoration of deep 
lace around the edges of all the arches — a deep lace 
of green, for the wall inside is wholly covered with 
the rich foliage. I have never seen any print of this 
ruin that gave the least idea of its beauty, and I 
wished excessively to try to sketch it, but had no 
means. I did not wish to come away. There was a 
spell about the spot, very difficult to analyze ; for I 
could not tell whether it were more pleasant or sad ; 
but it was the spell of genius and beauty, at any 
rate. I felt a poignant sorrow when I thought of 
Byron, brought so near as he was by standing on 
his veiy homestead-ground — when I considered his 
rained life and poisoned genius — his fiery heart, 
once innocent and true, turned to wormwood with 
hate and indignation, and the golden promise of his 
dawn darkening into a lurid storm before his noon — 
and no purple sunset when his mortal life sank into 



104 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 

the niglit of death. It is certainly one of the saddest 
of all histories. But his Father in heaven alone 
could know all his temptations and all the hin- 
drances to the development of his better nature, 
and He only knew all the gracious aspirations and 
motions of his spirit, veiled from the world, which 
so sternly repelled and scorned him, and too savagely 
dishonored his remains, even when they were brought 
from Greece, where he endeavored to do a noble 
deed. I hope that those persons who rejected him 
Avere quite sure that they were holier than he. And 
it is just as well for him that his body lies in Huck- 
nall church, instead of in the glorious old Westmin- 
ster Abbey. I remembered the divine words, " He 
that is without sin among you, let him cast the first 
stone." 

The gardener told us that our coachman might 
have driven us to the inner gate, and that the reason 
he did not was probably because he wished to have 
a jolly time at " The Hut." So when we arrived at 
the aforesaid inner gate I sat down, for I was weary, 
and obliged the man to meet us there, where he 
ought to have driven us. 

After we had dined, our landlady came suddenly 
in upon me. She inquired kindly whether we had 
had a pleasant day at Newstead, and I civilly an- 
swered " Yes," and remained with suspended pen, 
that she might retire, as time is precious. She 
talked on, however, and presently asked if she might 
sit down. I was much annoyed, but, of course, I 



NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 105 

said "Yes" — yet I found she was a perfect mine of 
interesting facts about the Byrons. By degrees she 

informed me that she was Mrs. , and that her 

mother was very highly regarded by all the aristoc- 
racy, whom she was in the habit of entertaining. 
She was especially intimate with two of Lord Byron's 

aunts, who lived in Nottingham ; and when Mrs. 

was a young girl, she was often sent to them by her 
mother with messages. And once she was going 
through the Market-place, when she met a little 
sweep, upon whose bare black toes some one trod, 
just as she was near him, and the boy squealed out 
" Oh Lord !" when she heard a voice behind say, 
" Is it I you want?" Looking round, she saw Lord 
Byron, who had thus responded to the poor boy in 
very gentle, musical tones, with great kindness. 

TT "vr "ST "Vr Tr "^ 

Two years after Lady Lovelace's visit to New- 
stead, she died, and her body was brought to this 
house and lay in state in the great drawing-room, 
covered with a violet velvet pall, embroidered with 
silver ; and twelve wax candles burned round it 
during the watch. She desired to be buried by the 
side of her father at Hucknall church ; so there lies 
her body now. 

Note. — It is perhaps superfluous to say here that this chapter 
was in type before the publication of Mrs. Stowe's article on 
Lady Byron. — Publisher. 



VI. 

ON THE WAY TO SCOTLAND. 

Carlisle, June 26th. 

We left the station at ten. Our particular porter 
was very attentive, and papa -wished me to corrupt 
him with a shilling ; but I would not, because I did 
not put him to any extra trouble. We again had a 
carriage to ourselves, and were extremely comfort- 
able. The country was so flat and inexpressive, to 
Preston, that I ceased to look abroad after awhile, 
and read my books about Holy rood. We arrived 
at Preston at eleven, and there we were obliged to 
wait two hours, which was provoking and tiresome ; 
for it was too hot to walk into the town, and there 
was nothing to see, if it had been cooler. 

At one we started again. We found a woman in 
one corner of oar carriage, — a queer little old-fash 
ioned woman, who was very nearsighted,'' very nice, 
and very sleepy, and her sleepiness and short sight 
together reduced her eyes to a geometrical line. 
We went to Preston on a Sunbeam, for that was the 
name of our engine ; and at the station was a spir- 



ON TUE WAT TO SCOTLAND. 107 

ited, comely-looking young woman, tastily dressed 
in a cloth jacket and liat, with two feathers, who 
went along by the carriages, calling out at each win- 
dow, "Times, sir? Will you have the Times?" 
Dickens has memorialized her, somewhere, as a fa- 
mous little person. At Bay Storse station were a 
great many large damask-rose§, some quite faint 
with bloom. At Lancaster three interlopers crow^d- 
ed into the carriage (our old lady having left us) — 
two gentlemen and a woman. One seemed to be a 
solicitor, both from his looks, and from a paper par- 
cel in his hand, directed to " Doctors' Commons." 
The solicitor remained till the end of our journey, 
and was so tired, and folded himself up in such a 
strange manner, that I thought once he was going 
to put himself into his pocket. As soon as we were 
confined for a few moments beneath a roofed sta- 
tion, we were of a light blaze instantly ; but the 
flames were quenched when we issued again into 
outer spaces. The earth was covered with the white 
May-weed and buttercups, and the road bordered 
with alder-bushes, reminding me of American way- 
sides. At one wee town, a bush of lovely dark-red 
roses shot new life into me, and I begged the guard 
for one. He plucked one for me, and its perfume 
was restoring. It was the crimson-velvet rose. The 
bush was nearly demolished during our halt. Papa 
solaced himself with his volatile salts, which once 
nearly cut open his head, with its penetrating, pow- 
erful scent. 



lOS NOTES IN ENGLAND. 

After leaving Lancaster, where we peeped at the 
Castle, and thought of John of Gaant, the country 
began to be picturesque and hilly, and soon, afar 
off, w^e saw the Scotch mountains on one side, and 
those of Westmoreland on the other — beautiful, pale 
outlines on the horizon, wrapped in a hot mist. 
We rushed for a long distance by a narrow, shallow, 
but clear stream, flowing over pebbles, at the foot 
of successive hills, which sometimes were very high. 
And there were many dry beds of torrents from the 
summits down to the narrow river. Often, for a 
good distance, the hills were quite bare, and one 
looked much like hoary old Nab Scar of English 
lake-memory. Then again, delicious, shady wood- 
lands covered the slopes, and pretty little villages 
were embosomed within, on small plains. I saw 
very few cattle, — only one or two flocks of sheep, no 
Jonger shaggy with long locks, but running, comfort- 
able, in sheared skins, enjoying the breezes. It 
w^as enchanting to see the mountains, after so much 
flat, and I only wished your eyes were resting on 
them as well as ours. 

I was struck with a singular arrangement in some 
of the pastures. In each of the four corners of a 
square lot, trees were merrily flourishing in a trian- 
gular pound, exactly as if they had been caught 
straggling about as vagabonds, and fastened up in 
groups for safe-keeping, while not a shrub was to be 
seen on the whole pasture besides. 

At Penrith we saw the ruins of a castle close by 



OiY THE WAT TO SCOTLAND. 109 

the track, a very few remaiDS of thick briok- walls 
and battlements. Some bits stood up miraculously 
— so narrow and unprotected that I should think a 
high wind would throw them over. They were of 
great depth, however. 

"We passed Milnthorpe, the town of roses, where, 
two years ago, we all stopped and took the stage for 
Windermere and Newby Bridge, as you will remem- 
ber. And you remember my charming coachman, 
done up in drab, with a face like a mammoth peony, 
bursting out of his collar. Ah ! the happy days of 
Windermere ! But there were no roses to be seen 
in Milnthorpe now, and we shot by in a few minutes. 
At five we arrived at Carlisle, and the guard said 
" The Bush" was the best hotel, so here we are. A 
grave, ministerial, dignified butler received us, and 
we found ourselves in a nice, pleasant parlor, look- 
ing upon the High Street (I suppose). At the end 
of double-twisted turns of corridors are our cham- 
bers, side by side. I hastened to mine ; for with a 
hundred miles of soot and dust settled upon me, 
what must I have looked like ? It seemed to me as 
if I had an entirely new face when it came out of the 
bath. 

Carlisle is on the river Eden ; and after dinner 
we walked out to a bridge over it, and the country 
beyond was beautiful. A pretty church lifted its 
spire from a mass of foliage on an eminence — Stan- 
wix Church, in Stanwix. We were searching for the 
cathedral, and at last I asked a boy where it was, 



110 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 

and found we had already passed the direct street 
leading to it. So we went to the castle. A wide 
walk surrounds it at the foot of the walls, and this 
walk commands an extensive and lovely scene of 
plain, river, woods, and, afar off, the mountains of 
Cumberland, Westmoreland, and Scotland. The 
walls are extremely high, and supported by enor- 
mous buttresses, very close together. On this walk 
we breathed the most delicious air. A stone bridge, 
with low arches and round Norman pillars, crossed 
the river Eden, and lambs grazed on the sunny 
green meadow, and we could see the high road to 
Scotland. On one side of our broad walk was a 
steep terrace, and then the strong, high walls ; on 
the other, an abrupt descent of a hundred feet, 
covered with trees and shrubberies to the very edge 
of the smooth, fair meadow. So we circumambu- 
lated until we came to the castle entrance, where a 
soldier was sentinel at the outer postern. We passed 
him to the inner, and there a youthful artillery 
officer, with sword and cylinder fur-cap, took charge 
of us. Several men, striped with red and gold, and 
wretched in heavy cossack helms, lay about the 
settles. Queen Mary Stuart was confined in this 
castle. That hapless queen seems to have tried the 
prison-power of all the castles in the laud. We saw 
the site of the tower she occupied, of which the 
staircase only remains, and looked at the terrace 
where she walked for exercise ; and then we went 
round the battlements. There were three old-fash- 



ON THE WAT TO SCOTLAND. Ill 

ioned iron guns, not used now, pointing to possible 
enemies on two sides. Across one opening, wido 
enough to admit a man, boards were nailed, be- 
cause, as our young officer said, the sentinels had 
sometimes swung down from it, to go and have a 
merry revel for the night. It seemed much too 
high ; but he said that when men were very tipsy, 
it did not hurt them to fall so far ; and then he con- 
fessed he had dropped down himself, and knew well 
it could be done. But some legs had at last been 
broken, and one man had been killed, so now it was 
fastened up. The view was wonderfully beautiful 
from this height, which was the roof of the donjon- 
keep. We could look down upon Queen Mary's 
tower also ; and on the steep ascent to this prome- 
nade, we were shown Queen Mary's well, which our 
guide said was the best water in Carlisle ; but we 
had no cup for tasting it. This young soldier told 
us that life was very dull in the fortress ; and he 
looked extremely joyless, with no ready smiles. He 
was handsome — his profile gem-like, really a Greek 
head and face, and he was doubtless as brave as 
handsome, for on his breast he wore a medal, which 
had Victory crowning a hero on one side, and her 
majesty, Victoria, on the other. He had been to 
the Crimea, and had not a sick day there, though 
he suffered on the voyage. Every one of the present 
garrison had been there also. When he took the 
medal from his breast to show us, he was just as 
joyless as before, and the memory of his brave deeds 



112 NOTES IN ENGXAND. 

gave him no animation. There were but twenty 
men in the castle, so that the dut}^ was very heavy, 
he said, the turns about came so often, and he could 
sleep only three nights of the week. It is the 
monotony that seems to weigh upon him like a mill- 
stone, and crush the faculty and inclination to be 
gay out of his heart. These soldiers are condemned 
to celibacy, and lead prisoners' lives, in effect. Oh 
that the lion would make haste to lie down with the 
lamb, and let the little child lead them ! — so that free- 
born men should not have to live such unnatural 
lives, and suffer so much wrong and evil. 

Carlisle is an old Roman station, and doubtless 
this castle was the site of one of their fastnesses. 
William the Conqueror rebuilt it, and William II. 
repaired it ; and it was taken and lost by the Scots 
and English over and over again for very many 
years, and was like a ball tossed from the hands of 
the one to the hands of the other, in a game centu- 
ries long. It was the outpost of the English against 
the Scots, just over the Border. Mary Stuart's 
keeper, Lord Scrope, once restored its dilapidations ; 
for the officer said it was exceeding old, built before 
the Christian era, two thousand years ago. 

He took us into the prison-cells, in one of which 
he had himself been locked up for two nights in 
succession ; and he spoke of being punished, with 
the same quiet manner and simplicity as he told us 
about his medal. There was no visible emotion in 
him, and it was heartrending to think of his object- 



OiY THE WAY TO SCOTLAND. 113 

less life, so without interest, that it was all one to 
him whether ho were a prisoner in a cell or an 
officer keeping guard — whether he wore a medal on 
his breast, or broke bounds and sprang down from 
the battlements. 

He recounted a legend of Lady Scrope, who be- 
trayed the castle for the love of Queen Mary, and 
who was shot, as she tried to escape through a door 
which he showed us, now forever closed. There is 
a deep moat on one side ; and on the summit of a 
slope Queen Mary walked, and watched games of 
ball played by her suite. She also rode on the 
lovely meadow ; but Sir Francis Knolles, who was 
appointed by Queen Elizabeth to guard her, and, 
though unwilling, was perfectly faithful, wrote to his 
royal mistress that he feared she might be rescued, 
and taken back to Scotland by some of her friends, 
if he allowed her so much freedom ; and finally, she 
was removed, for greater safety, to Bolton Castle. 

Until Scotland and England became one kingdom, 
CarKsle was the scene of perpetual victory and de- 
feat ; constantly destroyed, renewed, burnt, razed, 
and built up again, Hke a phoenix rising from its 
ashes. But now it grows yearly, and is what the 
old chroniclers would call a very fair town, and 
peace folds her wings over it. A very short time 
ago, the keep was an arsenal, and there were many 
arms there, which made a fine show ; but they are 
all taken away now. One of the largest rooms in it 
was used last Christmas for a ball-room, and a hun- 



114 NOTES m ENGLAND, 

dred and fifty people made merry in the grim old 
place. I was glad to see our sad attendant smile at 
the mention of this jolly dance. There was no more 
to see, and we bade farewell to the handsome, triste, 
and brave young sentinel, who had interested me 
very much, and depressed me too. 

We now went in search of the cathedral, and, 
going through a deep arched gateway of stone, we 
entered a Close — another cathedral Close — but very 
small, and, instead of rooks cawiog on lofty trees, 
we heard the twitting of innumerable sparrows. At 
Peterboro, the effect of the Minster and its environ- 
ment was like a hymn of the gods : here it was a 
simple song. The building looked to have been re- 
paired very thoroughly, and recently, all the corners 
and sculptures being crisp and unworn. The re- 
newed part is of reddish stone, and the old Norman 
part is of gray stone, and it is renewed in the deco- 
rated EngHsh style, and some intermediate portions 
are early English. We admired greatly the south 
porch, with its lovely wreath of carved flowers and 
birds, and its fantastic corbels, and also two seraphim 
as corbels to the principal arch of the entrance. 
The east window is vast, with a heading of flowing 
lines, filled with painted glass, all the compartments 
adorned with cinquefoils and trefoils. Statues of 
saints stood on canopied brackets, and lovely little 
circular lights were placed here and there. We 
could find no grand portal. The western front, in- 
stead of a lofty door or window or tower, was a wall, 



ON THE WAT TO SCOTLAND. 115 

supported by tlie liiigest buttresses. We could look 
tlirougli the iron gate in the southern porch, but it 
was locked. Through it we could see the transepts. 
The clerestories (which are the upmost range of 
arched galleries and windows) were of Norman 
architecture, gray and ancient, and the rest looked 
new. There was no sign of a verger, and we thought 
it too late to go for one. 

On one side of the Close was a very old building 
indeed, which I thought might be a part of the 
Abbey, and there were houses in this retreat, prob- 
ably of the Dean and Canons. We could only conjec- 
ture of these things then, and left it till to-morrow. 

June 27th. — J and I have been to the cathedral. 

* * * We tried to get there before the morning 
service, because we had so little time. We found a 
venerable man working in the grounds ; and when he 
discovered we wished for the verger, he dropped his 
spade and went for him, and returned with him im- 
mediately. There was a mild, pensive, contemplativ^e 
look in his face, and a patient quiet in his manner 
and figure very pleasant, and almost saint-like. Yet 
he was a homely, plain man, with no appearance of 
good fortune and good cheer, like the ruddy, gentle- 
manly, well-informed verger of Lincoln. There was 
refinement, however, in my twilight verger, John 
Scott, which his shabby coat did not conceal. As 
soon as he began to talk, I found he was scholarly 
and cultivated, and that the cathedral was his 



116 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 

" great darling." He was perfectly deliglitful in Lis 
naturally poetic, dreamy way, and I found lie had a 
fine perception of art. He told me that Cromwell 
had utterly destroyed the west end of the building. 
William Rufus founded the original conyentual 
church, and Henry I. finished it in 1101, in the Nor- 
man style. After the injury of a great fire, it was 
repaired in the early English. As it was long in re- 
construction, there are specimens of the geometrical 
and flowing lines ; but all blend together wonder- 
fully, just as variety of character makes a harmoni- 
ous company, and two thousand different voices can 
blend into one mellifluous tone, as happens just now 
at the Crystal Palace. The aisles of the choir have 
been scraped of plaster and wash, and now look per- 
fectly fresh, and the hue is pale j^orphyry, like the 
stone outside, and the gi'oined arches are ever beau- 
tiful. The Lady-chapel was demolished as well as 
the west front, and the vast east window is new. It 
is to be entirely filled with painted glass, and the 
top is already full, as I perceived yesterday; and 
now that I saw it on the right side, I found it ex- 
ceedingly rich. A Berlin sculptor was employed 
upon the carvings, and the verger said he was a 
man of extraordinary genius, and made sketches 
with no effort, and then cut the stone, or cut with 
no pattern at all. AU the strange gurgoyles and 
corbels and bosses were his handiwork, and had in 
them the true spirit of the ancient conceptions. In 
the choir is one brass left upon the floor, of which 



ON TUE WAY TO SCOTLAND. 117 

the verger lias made a rubbing, bj putting paper 
over it and using black-lead, so that the result is 
like an engraving or mezzotint. There were so 
many beautiful arches and circles of lights, that I 
had to pull out my pencil and go to sketching, and 
John Scott seemed well pleased that I cared to do 
so. One shrine was adorned with a carving of the 
badge of the Earl of Leicester — the ragged staff, at 
least. The tabernacle-work of the choir is quite 
black with eld, and a side screen between the stalls 
and the altar was of the same date, and covered 
with heads of saints, and every imaginable device 
of flower, bird, and beast. The verger showed me 
what looked like a brass tablet of a devout bishop, 
very delicately engraved, which he told me had re- 
cently been electroplated with gold, and that he had 
had an engraving taken of it. He was very proud 
of this. 

But the hour for the service approached, and he 
had to leave us once in a while to ring the bell ; and 
fearing to interrupt him, I reluctantly took leave of 
him and his " great darling," just as his Reverence 
the Dean issued from his house, in white linen robes, 
with a scarlet scapulaire and a square-topped cap, 
preceded by an oflicial with a silver mace. As he 
appeared, a troop of young choristers ran down the 
steps of the old building I had supposed a remnant 
of the Abbey (and it luas the former refectory of the 
Abbey), and followed him into the cathedral, when 
at once the organ rolled forth its thunder. 



NOTES IN SCOTLAND. 
I. 

BURNS' REGION. 

D UMFRIES, — MaTJCHLINE, — AtR, — BONNIE DOON. 

Dumfries, June 27th. 
Here we are, in BurjQs' town, where he lived 
many years, and died, and was buried, and where 
the great mausoleum was built over his body. 

Mauchline, June 28th. 
I COULD write no more at Dumfries than those few 
lines, and those were written in the station, while 
waiting for the train to fetch us here. We concluded 
to come to Mauchline, instead of going on rapidly 
to Glasgow, as we at first intended. * * * The 
weather has become cooler this afternoon. The 
comet has probably switched aside its fiery tail, and 
we are restored to England's customary, moderate 
heat. Gur carriage fi'om Carlisle was more luxu- 
rious than usual, and quite private to us. Indeed, 
there were no other first-class passengers. Wo 
passed the Annan river, which doubtless flows 
through Annandale. The country was very flat all 



120 NOTES IN SCOTLAND. 

about tliere, even to the horizon, with only occa- 
sional clumps of foliage. Yerj soon we came to 
Gretna, and then to the famous Gretna Green. 
Gretna Green is on the very line of division between 
England and Scotland ; and young people who re- 
solved to be united whether their parents would let 
them or no, and who did not wish to have their bans 
published, went there to be married without benefit 
of clergy. I do not think the custom holds now — 
but perhaps it does. I saw a lovely wood, where 
new brides and bridegrooms might wander at will, 
and the country was all very pretty thereabout. 
Afar on the left was Solway Firth, to the shore of 
which, an Annandale, Burns went, for the sake of 
bathing in the sea, just before he died. He had 
rheumatism in his limbs, and the salt water relieved 
him for a little while. 

After passing Gretna Green, we were refi^eshed by 
the looming up of a mountain on the left, and now 
we were in Scotland. It had a different aspect to 
England. It does not look so well brought up, so 
delicately nurtured and polished. Old Scotia seems 
not to have combed her hair — the grass looks 
rougher, and there is a wilder expression on the 
moors and hills. 

We passed Cammertrees and Buthwell, and now 
the lovely wreaths of blooming sweetbrier began to 
beautify the hedge-rows ; and soon the steep banks 
were covered with the yellow gorse in great profu- 
sion, and the wild pink and bowers of honeysuckle 



nUIiJ^S' BEG ION. 121 

(or " beesuckle," as R calls it). The foxglove 

also abouudecl, stiff and stately, holding all its cells 
open for the fairies to nestle in. We stopped at 
Thornhill, and mountain beyond mountain rose in 
the distance ; but first we passed through Closeburn 
(no doubt named so from one of those shy little 
streams called " burns" l)y the Scotch), overshadowed 
by foliage, and closely folded in by narrow banks. 
After Carron Bridge we plunged into a tunnel, and 
were cool for the space of two minutes and a half ; 

and issuing thence, J shouted, " A ruin ! a 

ruin !" and on the left there stood a few shattered 
walls of a small castle — a border fortress, perhaps ; 
but I do not know its story. At the Sanquhar sta- 
tion a little Scotch bairn called out " Glasgow Morn- 
ing Times" in such broad accents, and so musical 
too, that we thought we would buy a paper of him — 
especially as he was the first who spoke Scotch to 
us on Scottish ground. Presently we saw " Bute" 
on an engine, which looked classical, and at last 
arrived at Dumfries, where we were to remain three 
or four hours. So our luggage was locked up, and 
we walked into the town, red-hot as it was, near 
noon of day. It is a large town, and we toiled 
along, and turned down Shakspeare Street, and by 
diligent inquiries arrived at Burns Street, and found 
Burns' house. It is a low house, of two stories, and 
we were admitted by a smiling maid, who put us 
into a small parlor, and went to call her mistress. 

The mistress was a loosely strung woman, with a 

6 



123 NOTES IN SCOTLAND. 

pale, washy face ; and slie said this was Burns' 
parlor. So we looked earnestly at it, and tried to 
realize his existence there, till she took us up-stairs 
into the room in which he died. It was also small 
and low, and had a side closet, where, perhaps, he 
wrote and studied. The house is now an Industrial 
School. It is difficult to conceive how people can 
live in such small places. After lingering as long as 
we liked to detain the woman, we left this scene of 
most melancholy days in the poet's life. He had no 
thrift nor prudence ; and though he was an excise- 
man, and had a tolerable income, he yet spent so 
profusely that his family suffered from want, and 
sometimes did not feel sure of enough to eat. He 
had a wife and four children to maintain, and was 
wretchedly ill himself. In days of former despond- 
ency and gloom he had sung — 

" I wish that I were dead, but I no am like to die." 

Now he wished to live, but was daily like to die. 
The government, with singular meanness and cruel- 
ty, deprived him of part of his income when he was 
ill, though he already belonged to the kingdom 
through his genius. Genius and prudence seldom 
come together, especially when it is poetical genius ; 
and he wrote most eloquently and pathetically to 
this effect himself. " There is not among all the 
martyrologies that were ever penned so rueful a 
narrative as the lives of the poets. In the com- 
parative view of wretches, the criterion is not what 



BURNS' REGION. 123 

tliey are doomed to suffer, but what tliey are able 
to bear. Take a being of our kind : give liim a 
stronger imagination, and a more delicate sensi- 
bility, — which, between them, will ever engender a 
more ungovernable set of passions than are the 
usual lot of man ; implant in him an irresistible 
impulse to some idle vagary — such as arranging 
wild-flowers in fantastical nosegays — tracing the 
grasshopper to his haunt by his chirping song — 
watching the frisks of the little minnows in the 
sunny pool ; in short, set him adrift after some 
pursuit which shall eternally mislead him from the 
paths of lucre, and yet curse him with a keener 
relish than any man living for the pleasures that 
lucre can purchase ; fill up the measure of his woes 
by bestowing on him a spurning sense of his own 
dignity ; and you have created a wight nearly as 
miserable as a [poor] poet." 

In judging of these finely-strung, fiery-hearted 
beings, it would be well always to remember this 
plea of Burns. Ordinary mortals cannot estimate 
the dangers and temptations of those who are gifted, 
as Tennyson sings, with " the Love of love, the Hate 
of hate, and Scorn of scorn." 

After leaving the house, we walked up the High 
Street to the Market-place, and into a hotel to lunch. 
This hotel was the one in which Prince Charles 
occupied a room ; but we did not care to see it. It 
was far more interesting to look at the Globe Inn 
on the other side, which Burns used to frequent, — 



124 NOTES IN SCOTLAND. 

bj how much a true poet is greater than an indif- 
ferent prince ! Upon the windows of that inn Burns 
scribbled poetry with his diamond, which was a 
dangerous weapon in his hand — more fatal than a 
sword ; for with it he often indelibly recorded his 
indignation, his satire, and his wondrous wit, much 
to the detriment of his fellow-men, if they had been 
guilty of a mean or hypocritical action. 

After luncheon, we went to St. Michael's church- 
yard to see the mausoleum ; and we were much 
annoyed, in our strolls through the town of Dum- 
fries, with the noisome odors, giving us a sad fore- 
taste of the notorious uncleanness of Scotch towns 
generally. A grave-digger unlocked the door of the 
churchyard, and then resumed his grim occupation. 
We wandered on by ourselves, hoping we were to 
be free ; but a woman with keys soon overtook us, 
and asked us if we wished to see the mausoleum. 
We found, therefore, that it vx^as locked up. It is 
round, with a dome, and formerly was open to the 
air ; but the marble was becoming excessively de- 
faced, so that now the spaces between the pillars 
and arches are glazed. The sculpture is by Turne- 
relli, in very high relief. Burns stands with the 
plough, and Scotland's Muse hovers in the air, about 
to wrap him in her mantle. He is looking toward 
her with a surprised and animated air, and the face 
is said to be a perfect likeness. The figure is stout 
and well made, and the head large and compact, 
with clustering hair, large eyes and mouth, and the 



BUENS' REGIOK 125 

whole expression pleasant. I thought the hovering 
figure pretty and graceful. Tablets of marble hang 
on the walls, commemorative of all the members of 
his family. He died on the 22d July, 1796, when 
but thirty-seven years old, sixty-one years ago ; and 
in 1815, Avhen his coffin was removed to its present 
abiding place, the clustering dark curls on the head 
were as glossy as in life. The woman who was our 
guide was remarkably intelligent and good-looking, 
and we thought she talked English wonderfully 
well ; but it seems she was a Cumberland and not a 
Scotch person. There is a grand-daughter of Burns 
still at Dumfries, whom I wish we could have visited, 
but this we were not able to accomplish. 

The tombstones in the cemetery were different to 
any I have ever seeru They were nearly all very 
high, a mere facade, with an inscription ; and the 
trade or profession of the individual always put 
beside his name : i. e., " John Lookup, skinner" — (T 
cannot imagine what that trade can be, unless it 
was what Apollo practised in respect of Marsyas), — 
" Alexander Johnstone, painter." There were three 
ancient monuments, the oldest of 1529. Cromwell 
half pommelled them down, but the ruins remain, 
and it seems astonishing that some violent storm 
does not wholly overthrow them ; but the guide 
averred that no wind could move a stone. She took 
us inside the church, to show us the marble figure 
of a little child, whose father is the sculptor, Dun- 
bar. The original baby-form lay asleep, draped 



12a NOTES IN SCOTLAND. 

only in its beauty and innocence, and a lady who 
saw it was so much affected by its repose and love- 
liness, that she wished it for her own, and the father 
actually sold it for a hundred guineas, and carved 
this one in place of the other for himself. He has 
slightly draped this. It is a pity the first was sold, 
for it was doubtless far more beautiful, — cut " in 
love and terror," — though this is also sweet and ex- 
pressive of a living calm. We then went into Burns' 
pew, and I sat down where he used to sit, — a great 
pillar intervening between himself and the minister ; 
" for he did not much like the ministers," said the 
woman. He may have had reason in this ; but that 
he was deeply religious, no one can doubt who reads 
" The Cotter's Saturday Night." It was here that 
he sat, when he composed the poem upon the un- 
speakable creature upon a lady's bonnet. The lady 
so unfortunately immortalized was seated directly 
before him, in a more stylish pew than his, lined 
with cloth : 

" Ha ! wbare ye gaun, ye crowlin' ferlie ? 
Your impudence protects you sairly : 
I canna say but ye strunt rarely 

Owre gauze and lace ; 
Tho' faith, I fear ye diue but sparely 

On sic a place. 

" Ye ugly, creepin', blastit wonner, 
Detested, shunn'd by saunt an' sinner, 
How dare you set your fit upon her, 

Sae fine a lady ! 
Gae somewhere else and seek your dinner, 
On some puir body." 



BURNS' REGION. 127 

TVe enjoyed mucli seeing the scene of tliis poem, 
and it was wholly unexpected. This was the end of 
our Dumfries excursion, and now we are at Mauch- 
line. 

Mauchline is th6 village close by Burns' farm of 
Mossgiel, where he lived several years with his 
mother and sister, and brother Gilbert. It was at 
Mossgiel where he disturbed the field-mouse and 
crushed the daisy, and composed his celebrated 
poems upon each. It was in Mauchline that Jane 
Armour, his wife, was born and bred, and where he 
finally married her. An old inn in the village street 
was the scene of his cantata, " The Jolly Beggars." 
We are at Loudon Hotel, the principal one — a two- 
story, rather long house, with a look of newness and 
neatness. We were shown into a homely parlor, and 
the maid took me up into the chambers. One had 
two closed recesses containing beds, which is a 
Scotch style, and saves the expense of bedsteads, 
because a plain frame or box is merely nailed up to 
hold the bed, three sides being the walls of the 
room. Folding-doors are in front, which, when 
shut, turn the apartment into a parlor. * ^ * The 
house seems clean, and the landlady is a nice little 
woman, and the landlord a well-read man, if we may 
judge from his library in J 's bedroom. 

After tea we walked up the village street, and I 
found out which was " Posie Nancy's Inn," where 
" The Jolly Beggars" caroused and told their stories. 
There are but three or four streets. 



128 NOTES m SCOTLAND. 

Just as the green country opens is a beautiful 
mansion where Lord Chief Justice Hope resides ; 
and an avenue of stately trees, making a superb 
arched way, was very tempting to enter, but as it 
Avas private we did not like to go in, though the 
gardener thought his lordship would be very willing. 

29th. Sunday. — This morning we went to kirk. 
It was sacrament day, and the services were four 
hours long, three of which we stayed, the last hour 
and a half much against my will and capabilities. 
The kirk is as plain and homely as a house can be 
made, with long, narrow, high pews on each side. 
I do not accede to these barn-like houses of worship, 
while close at hand such lordly dwellings are erected 
for man's residence — as that of the Lord Chief Jus- 
tice, for instance. Why not render our best homage 
in art and architecture to our Supreme Father, as 
well as our best devotion ? The cathedral builders 
were right, I think. Down the centre was a pecu- 
liar arrangement. A narrow table reached from the 
pulpit to the door of entrance, and on each side sat 
the communicants, as closely as they could crowd, 
at the LorcVs table. It was a kind of interminable 
pew, for behind the seats was a back-piece, all the 
way up and down. The chief pulpit stood high, 
and beneath it was another one, very tiny, like a 
box, and ministers occupied both. First, the most 
exalted minister gave out a hymn, or rather a psalm, 
and then the lower clergyman began to sing alone. 



BUEJV8' EEGIOK 129 

in fi loud key. Before he had finished the second 
line, a sweet female voice joined in, and before the 
end of the fourth line nearly every person in the 
whole congregation was in full unison. This had a 
very beautiful effect indeed. I can compare it only 
to the sun, rising over a river of closed lilies, as it 
used to do in Concord, and as the rays struck each 
lily, the chalices opened and gave out their incense. 
All around me this gradual waking into song was 
quite perceptible. There was no organ, dulcimer, or 
harp, but the human voices were the only instru- 
ments, swelling into praise. An exceeding long 
prayer followed, not so edifying — another psalm, 
and then the sermon. My attention was now di- 
rected to the minister, and he was an extraordinary 
looking person. His round, swarthy face was set in 
a frame of black hair and whiskers ; his brows were 
black and heavy ; and when his face was still, cast 
a shadow with his eyelashes. But in speaking, he 
continually lifted these heavy eyebrows to their ut- 
most possibility, so that the space between them 
and his eyes looked like a white desert ; and as he 
kept up an incessant lifting, it had a ghastly effect, 
something like lightning. In addition to this hard 
working of the eyebrows, he twisted his mouth awry 
at every word, as if he had the St. Yitus' dance. 
His voice was naturally low, and through his long 
sermon he strained it up to a falsetto tone, and 
screamed ; and I think that very hkely this effort 
sent up his eyebrows. You may fancy the effect of 



130 NOTES m SCOTLAND. 

all these manifestations. He spoke, besides, in such 
a broad, Scotch accent, that I could not catch an 
entire sentence from beginning to end of the dis- 
course. His text was, " Simon, son of Jonas, lovest 
thou me?" When the sermon was over, he de- 
scended into a semicircular enclosure, and actually 
preached another long homily to the people about 
the qualifications for communicants ; and when that 
was finished, he turned to the members of the 
church who were sitting at the table, and actually 
delivered a third sermon ! Then the bread and wine 
were administered by five elders, while another 
psalm was sung ; and when those then at the table 
had partaken, the minister — yes, truly, the minister 
— uttered a foukth address, to admonish them of 
their renewed obligations. It might have been short 
and impressive, but it was long, and too diffuse and 
wearisome. Finally, his scream ceased to torture 
my ear, and all who sat at the table rose and left 
the kirk. I was now sure that no more would be 
said, both because the poor man must be exhausted, 
and because enough, and far more than enough, had 
been already said. But as the table filled again 
with another company, a new minister, fresh and 
strong, took the former one's place, and commenced 
another exordium ! This was the fifth. I began to 
grow so faint from the long confinement in the hot 
atmosphere, and from such a strain upon my atten- 
tion and ear, that I feared some catastrophe, and 
wished to get out. But the pews were very narrow, 



BUEJVS' BEGIOIT. 131 

and six great women had crowded into mine after 
we had taken possession, and it was impossible to 
escape, unless they had all filed into the aisle first. 
This could not be done during such a solemn rite. 
I concluded that when this second group had re- 
ceived the communion, I would tell the women they 
must give place, and let us go. My despair grew to 
its height when the minister commenced the sixth 
sermon, and at its close, I seized a woman and 
opened my lips to cry out for deliverance, when, for- 
tunately, they all started up and went to the table. 
I was nearly speechless with fatigue, and after din- 
ner was obliged to lie down for a few minutes, but 
could not spend much time resting, as we were to 
drive to Mossgiel and Ballochmyle during the after- 
noon. 

We ordered a carriage, the only one in Mauch- 
line ; and it proved a remarkably comfortable sort 
of chariot, and we drove to Burns' farm of Mossgiel, 
about a mile from the village. When we came to a 
very old hawthorn-tree on the side of the road, the 
coachman stopped, alighted, and opened the door, 
without a word from us, and I could not think what 
he meant. But he informed us that this old tree 
was Burns' " Lousy Thorn," and that pilgrims to 
Mossgiel had cut its twigs so constantly for memo- 
rials that it was nearly demolished, as, indeed, we 
could perceive. " Some of it has gone to France, 
and some to America," quoth he. So papa duly cut 
off a bit, out of love to the poet. Beggars used to 



132 NOTES IN SCOTLAND. 

rest under it on the highway, and Burns himself, 
from Mossgiel, often enjoyed its shade and met the 
beggars, and their deplorable squalor gave it its 
hardlj^-to-be-spoken name. How singular that a 
poet should have made that unmentionable insect 
classical ! 

We were noAV on high land. The difficulty with 
the farm used to be that it was too high and cold, 
so that it was only good for pasturage, and it still is 
famed for its excellent cheeses, as aforetime. Soon 
we turned into the field in which stands the home- 
stead, and the cottage was entirely concealed by a 
hawthorn hedge, twelve or fifteen feet high ! Pass- 
ing through an opening in the hedge, we drove 
directly into the farm-yard, round three sides of 
which were thatched buildings of stone, plastered 
white. One was a cow-barn, another a storehouse, 
and one the human dwelling. But the human dwell- 
ing was not at all better than the barn. An incredi- 
bly dirty woman and dirtier children came out of the 
cottage to look at us, and the woman said the family 
had gone to sacrament. (If that were so, the sacra- 
ment lasted all the afternoon as well as all the morn- 
ing.) She went into the storehouse, and the driver 
told us we could enter the cottage and look about, if 
we chose, and we did so. On the right hand of the 
narrow lobby was the kitchen, and a small girl tend- 
ing a baby, with two other children, in the midst of 
the utmost defilement you can imagine. Indeed, 
you cannot imagine it. It exceeded anything to be 



BUIINS' REGION. 133 

found in any land but Scotland. The girl wlio held 
the baby was pretty ; but her face was so foiled that 
it was difficult to see through the grime ; and she 
was shy, and did not know how old the baby might 
be, nor could she answer any question whatever. 
We looked at the kitchen in which Burns once had 
lived. On one side were two recesses — boxes, hold- 
ing beds, and these beds were indescribable, and all 
tossed up. Though it was nearly six o'clock in the 
afternoon, not an3^thing was put in order — no rag nor 
cloth was smooth on those horrible beds. I was 
afraid to stay long in such a place. We groped far- 
ther into the lobby, and found on the other side a 
room, where a youth sat, eating bread and cheese. 
He did not seem at all surprised to see us, and con- 
tinued eating in great composure. There were two 
more box-beds, larger than those in the kitchen, 
though not in better order. We then went up the 
short staircase, and saw a small bedroom on each 
side. One contained two beds, and clothing thrown 
about, and I think was a degree worse in condition 
than the kitchen. The other was covered with nice- 
looking cheeses, and really clean, — the only clean 
spot in or around the house. It is infinitely melan- 
choly to think of Burns, — a genius, a poet of fine 
perceptions, a being, as he says, "of a stronger 
imagination and more delicate sensibility" than com- 
mon men — living in such a den. One other door 
opened into a store-closet, and this was the whole. 
I was exceedingly depressed at finding Burns' home 



134 NOTES IN SCOTLAND. 

SO squalid. I only hope and believe that his mother, 
who was a woman of remarkable piety and sense, 
was also unusually neat for a Scotcliwoman, and 
that she and her daughter kept everything clean 
and sweet. This I ivill believe, though papa says 
he does not. We peeped into the barn and saw 
some goodly cows, and then walked down a path, 
and papa leaned on an old gate, upon which, no 
doubt, Burns often leaned, and looked off upon the 
far-distant hills and mountains, with smiling plains 
between. Near by were fine old trees ; and presently 
the young man, who was so diligently eating bread 
and cheese, came forth and told us that beneath 
the fiae^ and largest of these — a plane-tree— Biu'ns 
composed a great many of his songs. Two children 
followed us about, staring unweariedly, and at last 
I asked one his name, and he replied that it was 
Johan Wiley (I think the people here pronounce 
John, Mian), and finally we mounted into our char- 
iot, and drove across the very field — yes, the actual 
field where Burns disturbed the mouse and ploughed 
down the daisy — immortal mouse ! immortal daisy ! 
The field was thickly covered with daisies, as if they 
had come in crowds to thank him for his exquisite 
poem on their progenitor. 

Papa sprang out and gathered a handful of the 
myriads of daisies, and I have pressed some for 
memory ; but the houseless little mousie has utterly 
gone, leaving not even its wee tail behind, though 
he is safely embalmed in the poem — more safely 



BITENS' MEG 10 j^. 135 

than an}^ royal mummy, or, I might more aptly say, 
than any fly in amber ; for amber better symbolizes 
this poetry than cotton cerements and gold-embroid- 
ered wrappings, steeped in spices. 

So we left Mossgiel, and papa mounted the box 
of the barouche wdth the driver, to get a wider view 
of the country, and I was left to my meditations. I 
could not recover from the dirty cottage. I could 
not see how anything pure and high and heavenly 
could possibly grow and flourish in such a noisome 
atmosphere, with no space for decency, no leisure 
for order. But God's ways are not ours, and His 
thoughts are not as our thoughts, and doubtless He 
has his own shield to guard the innocent heart from 
wrong ; and the soul is not necessarily soiled with 
the body. 

The afternoon was delicious, for a cooler temper- 
ature was coming on, and the scenery was beautiful 
on every side. We now were in pursuit of Balloch- 
myle, where Burns met the lady upon whom he 
wrote the song — 

" The bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle." 

Ballochmyle is the estate of the Alexanders, and 
the " bonnie lass" w^as a Miss Alexander. We soon 
arrived there, and from one point we had a fine view 
of a new bridge of great beauty, with one mighty 
arch in the centre, and three small pointed arches 
on each side. The central arch was the frame of a 



13G NOTES m SCOTLAND. 

pretty picture of hill and wood and meadovv^ in the 
distance, and the valley was full of rich foliage, that 
covered the lower portions of the piers. 

Then we saw the very bridge on which the lady 
was musing. The road was deeply shaded on each 
side by thick woods for a short distance, and a fairy 
bridge of iron spanned the road far over our heads, 
springing from the foliage-covered rocks on one side 
to the thickets on the other, and leading to enchant- 
ing recesses both ways. It was to some of these 
bosquets that the lady was wending when Burns 
saw her. It is certainly one of the most romantic 
spots in the world. The Ayr flows on the right, 
taking a bend just there, and a lofty cliff rises al- 
most sheer from the stream, and the wildest, fresh- 
est charm pervades the whole environment. The 
waters are shallow, and the pebbles gleam distinctly 
through the pellucid ripples. On one side the 
perpendicular crag, on the other the meadow — not 
smooth and glossy like Genoa velvet, as an English 
meadow would be, however, but unkempt, because, 
as I said before. Old Scotia will not dress and 
smooth her tangled green hair. Dear me ! It was 
a place to dream in — a place to fall in love — a place 
to sing such songs as Burns sang. 

" Her look was like the morning's eye, 
Iler air like Nature's vernal smile — 
Perfection whispered, passing by, 
' Behold the lass o' Balloclimyle.' " 



BUBALS' REGION. 137 

Most reluctantly we left the delicate bridge so 
*' high uplmng." 

Soon we began to skirt the estate of Sir James 
Boswell, the biographer of Dr. Johnson. It was 
Auchinleck on the right, and Ballochmyle on the 
left. We then drove to Catrine, which is called 
" Scotland's clean town," as if there were but one. 
It was there that Burns first saw a Lord, the Lord 
Daer, a nobleman of the loveliest character, whom 
he afterward immortalized in a poem, beginning — 

" This wot ye all whom it concerns, 
I, Rhymer Robin, Robin Burns, 

October twenty-third, 
A ne'er to be forgotten day — 
Sae far I clambered up the brae — 

I dinnered wi' a Lord !" 

Catrine was not a very pretty town. All the way 
back to Mauchline village we constantly had on one 
side or the other the immense estate of Ballochmyle. 
As we came along the little old street in which this 
London hotel stands, I took a last look at " Posie 
Nancy's Inn," where the Jolly Beggars told their 
stories. 

29th. — It rains hard, but we are going to Ayr at 
two o'clock to see Burns' birth-place, near "the 
banks and braes o' bonnie Doon." Good-bye ! 



138 NOTES m SCOTLAND. 



Ayr, June 29th, 1857. 

We arrived at this fair town at four o'clock, in a 
dreary, cold rain, and I shall not be able to go out 

to see anything till to-morrow. Papa and J , 

however, have been out, and walked over " the twa' 
brigs of Ayr." 

We drove from the Loudon Hotel to the station 
in Mauchline in the rain, not having time to stay 
for fair weather ; and while waiting for the carriages, 
we saw a venerable gentleman walking up and down, 
waiting, as we were. Looking at his portmanteau 
accidentally as I passed it, I saw the name " Alex- 
ander," and no doubt it was an Alexander of Bal- 
lochmyle, some cousin or brother of " the lovely lass 
o' Ballochmyle," whom Burns met. No, it could 
not have been a brother, but it might have been a 
nephew, perhaps. I glanced with interest at him, 
for the glamour of poetry enveloped him, so potent 
is genius to glorify every slightest thing it touches. 
Would not the lips of the lordly Alexanders have 
once curled in disdain at the suggestion that a 
ploughman could invest their race with a m3'sterious 
charm ? 

In due time we were safe in our carriage, and first 
stopped at Kilmarnock, and at Stuarton the towers 
of Egliiiton Castle appeared afar off. At Dairy 
junction we changed, to part off from the Glasgow 
line. For if you will look on the map, you will see 
that we were obliged to come farther south again to 



BUHNS' REGIOK 139 

get to Ayr, wliicli is almost in a line with Maucli- 
line, to the west. Dairy is on the river Garnock, 
and next to it is Kilwinning, in which is the ruin of 
an abbey ; but it is flat and sandy, and on our right 
we began to see gleams of the Firth of Clyde ; and 
the Isle of Arran presently appeared. Ardrossan, a 
sea-bathing town, is situated beyond the sands, on the 
shores of the Firth of Clyde, and two fragments of the 
Castle of Ai'drossan remain on a promontory. This 
castle was a scene of one of Wallace's exploits. I had 
a glimpse of a gable of the ruined abbe}^, which was 
once yery grand, founded in 1140, in memory of St. 
Winning. John Knox knocked it to pieces, and 
" more's the pity." Kilwinning is a famous archery 
town, and here was a nearer view of Eglinton Castle. 
It is the residence of the Montgomeries, Earls of 
Eglinton, and I wish we could have gone to it, for 
the sake of seeing the enormous trees for which it is 
famous. Twenty years ago the present Earl, then 
a young man, held a tournament with all suitable 
accompaniments, in the true, olden style. Do not 
you wish we had been there? For five hundred 
years the Montgomeries have been lords of the 
demesne. 

We now passed through Irvine, chiefly famous for 
being the place where Burns, when a youth, endeav- 
ored to learn to be a flax-dresser, his only attempt 
at a trade. The shop in which he was established 
burnt down soon after he began, and then he gave 
it up. All his pecuniary efforts failed. 



1-iO NOTES m SCOTLAm). 

We next dashed into Troon, in full view of tlie 
Isle of Arran, wliich looked very near, " and there- 
fore foreboded rain," said a wight, who was our 
compagnon de voyage thus far. It was not neces- 
sary to say it " foreboded" rain, for it already rained, 
and when we brought up at Ayr, it still rained, and 
was dreary and sloppy and cold. We had to wait 
at the station interminably for a fly, and in the wait- 
ing-rooms there was never a seat, and they were 
very dirty and Scotchy. But the fly came after our 
patience had had its perfect work, and now we are 
quite nicely accommodated at the King's Arms. We 
have a large, handsome drawing-room, polished 
footmen and butlers, and a pleasant though wiry- 
faced landlady. 

June 30th. — This morning I looked out of the 
window in the broad daylight at half-past three ! 
and was thankful to see the streets perfectly dry. I 
asked for no more ; for this would do without sun- 
shine, though the sunshine would have been most 
welcome. So, soon after ten, we ordered a fly, and 
drove out of Ayr to the cottage in which Burns was 
born. It is the lowest, humblest of thatched cotta- 
ges, consisting of but two rooms. The kitchen re- 
mains exactly as it was originally, with its floor of 
smooth, large stones laid together, its small recess 
containing a bed, upon which the baby poet first 
opened his eyes to the light, and a funny old fire- 
j^^lace. The room is extremely small. It was now 



BURNS' REGION. 141 

however, perfectly clean. The sitting-room is plas- 
tered and floored with planks, but in the time of 
Burns was unceiled, and had a clay floor. The 
walls and furniture of this apartment are literally 
embroidered with names of visitors, cut with knives. 
There is scarcely an inch left anj^where, to put an- 
other name. Beally it hardly seems possible to live 
in such a small space as those two wee rooms, and 
when I said so to the old woman, who showed us 
about, she replied, " Och, ma'am, it is na wi' Scotch 
as wi' ither folk." The cottage has been built upon 
for an inn, and she took us along a corridor to a 
very large and pretty high saloon, which I think 
would have amazed Burns. There were other rooms 
besides, hung round with prints and paintings — all 
of the poet, or of scenes in his poems. The auld 
mither said that Burns was nine years old when his 
father removed from this cottage to Mount Oliphant. 
We then drove to the Monument, passing by Al- 
loway Kirk, which is close to it. We alighted, 
and tried the bell at the gate opening upon the 
monument ; but no one answered, and the driver 
was obliged to search after the old porter, who had 
gone to see a foundation-stone laid. The auld 
mon came, after weary waiting for him, and let us 
in ; but said he must return and see " the stane 
laid." So he locked us up and went away, after in- 
forming us that every door was open inside, and that 
we could look by ourselves. The enclosure is a 
garden, entirely filled with every variety of flowers 



143 NOTES m SCOTLAND. 

in the richest profusion and fullest bloom. Roses— 
sweetbrier and all kinds, heliotrope, rosemary, and 
other aromatic plants, among evergreen shrubs, offer 
up their incense to the memory of Burns, whose 
bust is enclosed in a Corinthian temple, raised on a 
high stone base, in the midst of the garden. It is 
surrounded by eight columns, and surmounted by 
the Highland-bonnet. Inside stands the marble 
head, and a glass case, containing the Bible he gave 
to his Highland Mary, and a lock of her fair hair. 
His own autograph is on a fly-leaf of the Bible. 
They stood each on opposite banks of the little 
river, holding that Bible between them, and prom- 
ised eternal fidelity ; and Burns had written on the 
fly-leaf a verse from it about not sweariug falsely. 

We went up on the roof, and there my longing 
eyes at last rested upon " the banks and braes o' 
bonnie Boon." And I saw " the little birds that wan- 
toned through the flowery thorn ;" and I saw the 
thorn, and heard the birds, as when they almost 
broke the heart of the poet. We then walked along 
every path, bordered thickly with flowers. A sun- 
dial, with a hedge of " flowery thorn," stands before 
the door of the temple. At the end of one path, we 
came upon a deeply sheltered edifice with open door, 
and we walked in, when, behold ! there sat Tarn o' 
Shanter and Souter Johnnie, forever jolly in stone, 
each holding a glass of ale — Tam laughing outright, 
and old Souter Johnnie with a happy, silly grin on 
his face. This group was cut by a self-taught artist 



BUBjYS' BEGIOK 143 

by the name of Thorn, and these identical figures, or 
exact copies of them, were once exhibited in Boston, 
America. It was curious to leave these animated 
images in eternal silence, and yet laughing so loud. 
And if Tam could have seen with his stone eyes, he 
might have looked upon the very Brig of Doon over 
which he rode so madly on that memorable night ; 
for it is close by the little edifice in which he sits. 

When the old porter had satisfied his curiosity 
about the foundation-stone, he returned to us, and 
gave me a sweetbrier-rose and some rosemary — 

" That's for remembrance — " 

and two dam ask -roses. I will enclose you one, be- 
cause it smells so sweet. I have sealed up the 
eglantine and rosemary. 

We then went to Alloway Kirk, which is now a 
ruin. The two gables remain, and the side-walls, 
but there is no roof. It is very small, and divided 
by a stone partition into two parts, and in each is a 
tomb, and it is surrounded by a graveyard. Papa 
found the window into which Tam peeped, and 
pulled out of the embrasure a little stone, as big as 
a pea, and gave it to me for a relic. 

We wandered off from the Kirk to cross the old 
and new Brigs of Doon. The old is much the most 
beautiful : we walked quite over it, and returned to 
our fly the other way. " The banks and braes o' 
bonnie Doon" are pre-eminently lovely. The river 



144 NOTES IN SCOTLAND. 

is broad in many parts, and tlie trees stretch over 
and dip into it, and it flows with life and 303^, as if it 
were happy in its poetic fame and memories. We 
enjoyed this excursion purely, deliciously ; for 
though the sun did not shine, there was beauty 
enough without it, and the sweet song, and pathetic 
ode, and comic tale, all blended together in an en- 
chanting effect impossible to describe. 

We drove back to the hotel, and then walked out 
to see the town. I wished to go over the " twa 
brigs of Ayr" which had such a pleasant chat to- 
gether. We first crossed the new one. The tide 
was low, and the river did not look pleasant ; but it 
was one of the memorable "brigs," nevertheless, 
from which we observed it. We saw an old kirk up 
a street, but upon going to it, found there was no 
reason for investigating the inside, and we pursued 
our intention of returning by the " auld brig." It is 
very picturesque — covered with moss and lichens, 
and raised on high arches, with an exceediDgly nar- 
row carriage-way. A throng of country people was 
selling pigs and vegetables at one end, and we 
crowded through both piggies and folk. There 
were small shops part way over, and I looked into 
tliem all to find something for a memory. 

I observe here in Ayr, as I did in Mauchline, that 
the women have a peculiar way of carrying about 
their babies. They wear a long shawl, which they 
wrap round their own shoulders and the child, and 
the result is that they look like a full-blown flower 



BUIINS' REGION. 145 

and bud on the same stem. You see no arms, but 
only a large and a small head and the main body. I 
am surprised to find Ayr so large and fine a town. 
It is much handsomer than the lesser towns in Eng- 
land ; and this hotel, the King's Arms, is uncom- 
monly good — of the first class. The landlord, when 
we started for Alloway Kirk, put us carefully into 
the carriage, and brought one of his own plaids to 
fold about us. We find a great deal of this genial 
kindness in Scotland, and I think the charges are 
not so exorbitant as at English hotels. 
Now we are for Glasgow. 

7 




n. 

GLASGOW. 

June 30th, 1857. 
* -x- ^ ^ -H- ]3y Q^Q ^jjj^g ^rg IqIi ^jj.^ ii^Q g^^j]^ glinted 

at us a little out of the clouds, and it was a very 
pleasant journey. The Firth of Clyde was now on 
our left hand, and the Isle of Arran lay half in mist, 
like some huge sea-horse, upon its surface. I had a 
glimpse of a ruin of a kirk near Prestwick, and 
when we arrived at Monktown we had a fine view of 
Ailsa Crag, rising a thousand feet from the level water, 
a mighty globular mass. At Irvine (Burns' flax- 
dressing town), an old gentleman got into our car- 
riage. He was very kind, and told us all he could 
about the country, and in return I sketched his face. 
He had a good profile, and in his youth may have 
been handsome ; but now he was too fat. The 
Scotch have far handsomer noses than the English. 
I suspect the English suffer from having been mixed 
up with Danes and Northmen so much, and all North- 
men are liable to have potato noses, says Miss Bre- 
mer. I suppose the Scotch are a less mongrel race. 
Ijet this be as it may, their noses have a finer line. 



GLASGOW. 147 

Perhaps some Komans who strayed up here rectified 
their forms with their own classic contours. 

As we passed through Kilwinning again, the gude- 
man lamented over Knox's senseless rage against 
innocent stone, when knocking down the magnifi- 
cent abbey. We now kept crossing the river Gar- 
nock. Then we enter Beitli, and skirt along by 
Kilburnie Loch, two miles long and half a mile 
broad, with pretty banks of clustering foliage ; and 
on it is Kilburnie village, with its small, ancient 
kirk, full of interesting memorial tablets of the noble 
Crawford family. The ruins of their castle are at 
no great distance, covered with ivy. Soon we came 
to Loch Winnoch. The country all about these 
lochs is rich and picturesque, but still not carpeted 
with velvet of various shades, nor winnowed of 
every unsightly weed, nor bearing marks of the un- 
tiring hand of man, polishing and garnishing at 
every point. It has its own charm, however, though 
my eyes have become so accustomed to England's 
perfection of culture, that I do not quite like it, and 
I am all the time wishing I could clear up the land- 
scape and make it nice. 

But now the great toTVTi of Paisley comes to view, 
with its spires and towers and chimneys of manu- 
facture. It is the shawl-town, and of remote anti- 
quity. It has ruins of an abbey, where there is a 
sculptured figure of King Robert Bruce's daughter. 
Her husband, Walter Stuart, founded the abbey. I 
wish we could have visited it ; but I should have 



148 NOTES IN SCOTLAND. 

preferred even to this a visit to Ellerslie House, upon 
the lands of which William Wallace was born. But 
all wishes were vain, for on we went to Glasgow, 
and drove to George's Square, George Hotel. At 
the station we were recommended to several hotels, 
and when I asked our old cabman whether the 
George was good, he replied with the broadest 
accent : 

" They're a-a-a-a-a-11 gude," in the most Scotch 
and patriotic manner. 

Immediate^ after arranging ourselves, we went 
out for sight-seeing, and turned into George Street. 
It is very long, and crossed first by Montrose Street 
and then by High Street. This is the ancient part 
of Glasgow, and, going to the end of it, we found 
the famous Cathedral. At the gate, just inside, is a 
small lodge, where tickets are sold for sixpence, and 
no other fee is allowed. This is a convenient ar- 
rangement, for it relieves visitors of the care and 
demands of vergers. The building is not of the 
largest size for a minster, but it is of fine and state- 
ly proportions. There is no peaceful and heavenly 
Close around it, but a graveyard ; and high above 
and beyond its eastern end is the Necropolis, covered 
with obelisks and little temples and columns and 
sarcophagi. 

We entered the Cathedral by the southern porch, 
as the door was open, and were directly under the 
spell of the arches and clustered pillars and groined 
ceilings of the nave. The choir and chancel were 



GLASGOW. 149 

filled with pews, kirk-fasliion, all the (doubtless) 
beautiful stalls and tabernacle-work having been 
cleared away as rubbish by the Reformers. The 
pews were of oak, and where the high altar once 
stood stands now the pulpit — no bishop's throne nor 
canon's desk being left. But the rich upper border 
of the former screen remains, exceedingly splendid. 
The Chapter-house is at the side of the Lady- 
chapel, and its stone roof is supported by one of 
those grand fountain-columns which I have before 
described to you. 

But we concluded to go down into the crypts be- 
fore we looked any more at the upper regions. I 
was wholly unprepared for the wonderful and solemn 
grandeur of these crypts. Walter Scott speaks of 
them in " Rob Roy," and Rob Roy himself was con- 
cealed behind one of the massive pillars on a special 
occasion. How can I make you see with me these 
majestic sepulchres for the dead ? There is nothing 
like them in the kingdom, and the verger (who 
cropped up in the Chapter-house), said that he be- 
lieved there were none equal to them in Europe. 
The gi'ound upon which the cathedral is built sud- 
denly descends toward the east, and the glorious 
architects of those early days, instead of filling up 
the cavity with earth or other supports to the floor, 
conceived the idea of building these aisles, of the 
same superb style as those above, for the burial of 
saints and prelates. Beneath every column in the 
upper stands one in the under structure ; but besides 



150 NOTES IN SCOTLAND. 

these, tliere are many more beneatli those above, of 
every variety of shape and capital. There are three 
separate crypts. The largest, which is beneath the 
choir and chancel, is St. Joceline's, and his stone 
effigy lies in state in a shrine in the centre, of which 
the four columns have rich foliaged capitals. But 
the figure has been mutilated, and the lions broken. 
This shrine is the central object, with its four clus- 
tered shafts reaching to the ceiling. 

Under the Lady-chapel the ground descends five 
feet lower, and therefore the piers are twenty feet 
high. And this ordered wilderness of stems bear 
up a marvellous intricacy of branches, which hold, as 
it; were, in a thousand-in-one-united chalice, the 
gorgeous Victoria Begia of a cathedral. At every 
crossing of the groinings is a sculptured rose, or 
boss, and under the chancel fifteen at least meet in 
one great rose. Beneath the Lady-chapel are several 
small chapels of perfect beauty, each one contain- 
ing the monument of some illustrious person. But 
in all these spaces the destructive Beformers have 
not left one single tomb, except that of St. Joceline. 
They cleared the crj^pt, and made it the place of 
worship of some parish until as late as 1803. It 
was called the Barony Parish ; but after they ceased 
to worship there, they filled it with earth ! and used 
it to inter their dead, and daubed the columns with 
black and white devices. Five years ago all these 
defilements were removed, and the soot and paint 
scraped off, and every part repaired and thoroughly 



GLASGOW. 151 

cleansed, so now it is just as wlien first made. It 
is delightful to see with what loving, faithful care 
each worn and broken stone has been replaced. 
There are some trefoiled pointed windows at the 
sides of one of the chapels which made me nearly 
distraught for want of power to express their en- 
chanting grace ; and the door that leads into Bishop 
Lander's Crypt is also confounding to poor limited 
mortals. It is a pointed arch, or rather a hundred 
arches, one within another. These grooves make 
the depth of the doorway, and there is one broad 
groove intricately and most richly carved. Upon 
examining it, I found that on one side saints, monks, 
and devils are sculptured, and on the other birds 
and animals. The arch runs up in saints and fiends, 
and runs down in beasts and reptiles. One old 
monk sits reading in inefi'able repose, as if he had 
read undisturbedly from a past eternity, and pur- 
posed to read on to a future without end. Just 
above him is a saint in ecstasy, and at the lowest 
point sits an imp, or Auld Nickie Ben himself, pre- 
tending to be devout. At the end, on the other 
side, a reptile is wriggling out of the stone as fast 
as possible, as if he were going to scamper away 
with the whole string-course of figures, saints, 
devils, and all. The old painted glass is nearly 
gone ; but one window in St. Joceline's crypt has 
been restored, and all is to be replaced in course 
of time. I was half frozen in the abysses at last, 
and obliged to go up-stairs. Grand, broad stair- 



152 NOTES m SCOTLAND. 

ways led to the nave. But on the way to the npper 
regions, I found still another crypt at the south, — ■ 
Bishop Blackader's — oh, so stately and beautiful ! 
Directly down the centre is a row of glorious clus- 
tered columns, with foliated capitals. It is fifty- 
nine feet long and thirty feet broad, and has a 
great deal of delicate sculpture. Papa confessed 
himself too cold to remain " in profundis " any 
longer, and so we went on to the nave. There sat 
the verger. I asked him where the organ was, and 
he exclaimed, " Oh, we have no kist of whistles 
here !" and then he laughed, and turned himself 
upside down in a great spasm. When he recovered 
his equilibrium, he began to tell me the Scottish 
Kirk's manner of singing — " mental music," he 
called it, but I assured him I knew all about it, for I 
had heard it at Mauchline, and liked it exceedingly. 
He thought it must be very coarse at such a wee 
place as Mauchline, but if I should hear it in the 
cathedral, where there were trained singers, who 
had the finest voices, I should then find that there 
was no organ music and no chanting like it. I de- 
fended the Mauchline people, and urged that they 
could have as sweet voices and as much devotion as 
Glasgow orchestras, and that I found it very inspi- 
ring. Oh, but, he said, the spaces, the arches give 
such a fine effect ! The small-eyed verger seemed 
to have a misgiving that I was making fun of his 
" mental music," but I insisted that I was sincere, 
and that I was also a dissenter, and could sympa- 



GLASGOW, 153 

tliize with liis repugnance to empty forms. After 
liiugliing a great deal, and doubling himself up in and 
kicking out in his indescribable manner, he gave 
over about the music, and called my attention to one 
of the groups on the screen — a bonnie Scotch girl 
talking with an old monk — which still keeps its sharp 
lines and is full of life and good expression. A gro- 
tesque figure at the corner sent him off into a new fit, 
and then he delivered a learned discourse about the 
top of the screen, and how feebly it had been imi- 
tated on the sides by modern artists. -^^ -J?- -J?- * * 

After bidding adieu to the cathedral, we looked 
over the graveyard and at the sky-high Necropolis, 
and then went to see the University. It has five 
courts or quadrangles, and the part of the building 
on the High Street is long and low, of antique ap- 
pearance. We merely walked through the courts, 
and did not then go inside. The Molindinar burn 
flows behind- It was a college, founded in 1450 by a 
bull of Pope Nicolas V. We admired a fine old 
stone staircase, with a sculptured lion on one 
pedestal and a unicorn upon the other. We did not 
go anywhere else, except to the post-office for your 
letter. 

In the centre of this beautiful George's Square is a 
garden, enclosed, as you often see in English and 
Scotch cities ; and in the centre of the garden is a 
loft}^ column, eighty feet high, upon which stands a 
statue of Sir Walter Scott. It looks very like him, 
even so far off as it is. Other statues are at the 

7* 



154 NOTES IN SCOTLAND. 

four corners. One is of Sir John Moore, by Flax- 
man, and one is of James Watt. 

This morning we went out to find, if possible, the 
old Tolbooth (Scotch for prison), made famous by 
Walter Scott. We walked along Buchanan and 
Argyle Streets, and I think Glasgow a very splendid 
city, very far superior to Liverpool in every respect. 
The streets are broad, and the houses stately, and 
the shops superb. London hardly surpasses them, 
and a few are handsomer than any London shops. 
We went down the salt-market for the sake of Baillie 
Nicol Jarvie, who lived there, and I think I saw his 
house ; for I saw a very ancient and funny one. 
Along this and High Street were throngs of dirty 
people, so thick that it was not agreeable to crowd 
past them. We persevered to the end, however, and 
came out upon the Glasgow Green, which is a 
hundred acres large. An obelisk to Nelson is 
erected there, and it was the first monument erected 
to him in this country. Fairs are held upon it, and 
we saw a movable theatre and an exhibition of wax- 
works. We stood on a bridge a little beyond th(} 
Green, and looked down into the Eiver Clyde, and I 
made inquiries about the old Tolbooth of a man 
who seemed friendly. He assured me that it was 
close by, and pointed to a grand, stone, new building 
facing the Green. But we knew better than that it 
could be the old jail. 

We then returned through the noisome salt-mar- 
ket, and crossed Trongate, where Sir John Moore 



GLASGOW. 155 

was born, and went into an archway beneath a high 
tower that seemed of the olden time, a hundred 
and twenty-six feet high, surmounted by a crown. 
Adjoining it is now a new building. We asked 
several policemen about it, and also the place 
where was the old historic Tolbooth ; but no one knew 
anything. So I went into a shop near this cross (as 
the tower is called), and bought a little Falkirk 
mosaic quaigh, and afterward we proceeded to the 
college. At the High-street entrance we found 
three people, one of them looking like an official — • 
an old man — and I was sure he could tell us about 
the Tolbooth. And so he could and did. The old 
Tolbooth, he said, was no more, and on its site had 
been built a new town-house ; but that the ancient 
cross still remained, at the corner of the Trongate, 
and, behold ! we had been standing beneath it ; for 
it was the very one, surmounted by a crown, close by 
which I had bought my inlaid tub, and therefore 
we had already effected all that was possible con- 
cerning the memorable old prison. 



III. 

DUMBARTON. 

July 1st, 1857. 

It is quarter-past six, and we have just arrived 
here from Glasgow by a steamer that passes up and 
down the Eiver Clyde. We are in " The Elephant," 
an unexpectedly nice hotel, considering what a small 
town is Dumbarton. Our butler is a venerable man 
with white hair ; our maid is enthusiastic and oblig- 
ing, and our landlady drops a courtesy at every turn, 
and is polite. I sit at a window that looks up a 
street of shops and people, terminating in a kirk. 

The first part of our course on the river w^as not 
interesting ; but when we came to the country, with 
its trees and hills and meadows, it was refreshing 
indeed, and in an hour the Highlands began to show 
themselves in blue mist. The weather has been as 
superb as weather could possibly be, not too warm, 
and with a reviving air. In the boat we had Souter 
Johnnie and Tam O'Shanter, and they enjoyed each 
other prodigiously. Johnnie was mighty in girth 
and profuse in chin — or chins, for he had a dozen of 
them ; and Tam was bony and wiry, with a great 



BUMDARTOJS': 157 

tendency to excitement. Such good portraits I liave 
seldom seen. Johnnie was sitting near me, with a 
good-natured lack-histre in his fat face, when the 
tall form of his beloved compeer loomed up in the 
neighborhood, and Tarn gave a friendly nod, and sat 
down opposite to us. Johnnie wriggled in his place for 
a few minutes, endeavoring to remain where he was ; 
but Tarn's magnetism proved too overwhelming, and 
so he got up, and squeezed his enormous rotundity 
into what seemed no space at all between his friend 
and another man. This other man was about being 
vexed, but meeting the jolly, kind glance of Johnnie, 
he made room for him directly, and Tarn's wit imme- 
diately began to shake the mountain of materiality 
at his side into earthquakes. They talked with 
broad, Scotch accent, and, upon the whole, I have a 
suspicion that I saw the very originals of Burns' 
poem. 

Presently the river Clyde came to have rural 
banks, green meadows, and villas in shaded wood- 
lands ; and strange-looking structures rose up upon 
every turn of the stream and every inequality of the 
shore. They w^ere of great variety of form, and built 
of various substances — some of brick, some of stone, 
some of clay and earth, ffnd some of coal-dust ; and 
each one was surmounted with a cross, red, black, or 
white. They were warnings or beacons for steamers 
and row-boats that go up and down, to show where 
rocks and sand-banks are. From the fanciful shapes, 
one might suppose that the old Gothic dreamers had 



lo8 IsOTESIN SCOTLAND. 

been at work with tlieir love of change ; but they 
are modern, and the spirit of picturesqneness has 
descended from aforetime to the present generation. 

During the last hour of our river journey, grand 
old Ben Lomond made the distance illustrious with 
giant head and shoulders, like Michel Angelo's Day, 
and like it, without distinct features, — the veiled 
prophet of this northern land. To-day his veil w^as 
blue tissue. Nearer at hand were the Roman fort- 
ress of Dunglass, and a bold headland called Dum- 
beck (hill of roes) ; and then came the twin crags 
upon which Dumbarton Castle is built, very abrupt 
and sheer from the river and plain, and from some 
points of view very sharp. We soon were safe in 
the bay, and a stout porter took the portmanteau 
in his hand and the trunk on his back, and, as there 
were no cabs, we followed him afoot to this only 
good hotel, close by the landing. 

Eve. — We have climbed Dumbarton's craggy 
heights, and it was no small labor, for they are 
almost perpendicular, five hundred feet into the air, 
— reached partly by convenient natural inequalities 
in the rocks, and partly by stone stairs cut where it 
is steepest, and where the twins have a chasm be- 
tween. We found a very intelligent, gentlemanly 
soldier of the garrison at the gate, who pioneered 
us about. I thought at first that I would not go to 
the very summit, but I was tempted higher and 
higher, till I stood on the topmost peak. The cap- 
tain of the steamer had pointed out to me from the 



DUMBARTON. 139 

boat the crevice in the cliif up which Wallace climbed 
and killed the sentinel at the stone wall built on its 
verge. The soldier said there were two places up 
which he struggled, and at that time (in the 13th 
century) it was a daring and perilous feat. The 
soldier was, however, mistaken in thinking that 
Mary, Queen of Scots, was ever a prisoner here. 
He showed us the outside of what he believed her 
cell, at the same time saying that it was one of 
several very nice apartments, the best in the castle ; 
but that now they were all shut up, and wo could 
not go in. 

The truth is, that Mary was there in the early 
part of her life, until she was six years old, and that 
then she went to France ; and that, though after her 
return to Scotland she intended to visit Dumbarton, 
she never was in the castle again. But the noble 
Wallace was prisoner in it, betrayed by the base Sir 
John Menteith, who invited him as a friend to go 
there, and then thrust him into a dungeon, for the 
sake of a share in the three hundred merks [a merk 
is worth $3.22] which King Edward had set as a 
price upon his head. This mean, paltry knight is 
made forever hideous and absurd in stone, as a 
corbel, on the outer wall of one of the towers. Sir 
John was then governor of the castle. When Ed- 
ward heard that Wallace was secured, he sent for 
him, and crowds followed him to London, where 
there was such deep sympathy expressed that the 
king did not venture to put him in the Tower. He 



160 ' NOTES IN SCOTLAND. 

tlierefore went to a private house, wliencB lie was 
taken and tried, and then hanged ignominioiisl}^ 
being first treated with frightful cruelty. This hap- 
pened in 1305. On the summit of the rock we saw 
the foundations of a very old round tower of the 
early British period ; but the wind blew such a hur- 
ricane that I had much ado to keep myself steady 
and entire, and I could not examine it much. 

We walked round the battlements. The view was 
very beautiful. The atmosphere was like diamonds 
and pale topaz ; for it was near sunset, and the sol- 
dier said he had never seen the Highlands so clearly 
defined — Ben Lomond especially — as then. On the 
other side, the river Clyde, broad and winding, with 
its green meadows and wooded shores — the villas^^ — 
the bold headland Dumbeck and the castle Dun- 
glass — all combined to make a stately and lovely pic- 
ture. Nothing remains of the ancient castle but one 
old bit of wall, entirely overhung with ivy, and 
doubtless upheld by it also. That was the . part 
used as a dwelling, and called a palace when kings 
lived in it. There were sentry-boxes, like little 
towers, at the corners of the battlements, and 

J got into one, and then papa took his stand. 

I wondered why — but no longer, after papa told me 
that his beloved Dr. Johnson once took a fancy to 
thrust his large person through the door, and then 
found it nearly impossible to get out again ! Would 
not it have been very funny if it had been neces- 
sary to demolish the tower for the sake of deliver- 



DUMBARTOK IGl 

ing the big pliilosoplier from liis voluntary confine- 
ment ? After seeing everything on the tip- top of 
the highest twin, we went to the lower, where the 
governor's house and officers' rooms are, and an ar- 
mory. There were once fifteen hundred stands of 
arms there, which now are in the Tower of London. 
The officer gave us in charge to a little girl at the 
armory. She, with her key, came out of a door 
near by, and took us into a grim old place, where 
we saw only some pistols arranged in stars in that 
perfect order always enjoined in military affairs. 
But though the guns and muskets are all taken 
away, they have what is much more interesting and 
valuable — the sword of William Wallace. I took it 
in my hand, and it was pretty heavy. The point is 
broken off and it is very rusty and black. For five 
hundred and fifty-two years it has been rusting 
there, ever since it was treacherously taken from 
Wallace. * * * The girl also showed us many 
weapons that had been picked up on the field of 
Bannockburn, at which we looked with great inter- 
eat. I thought this armory a gloomy, sad place, 
and was not a little surprised to observe in the win- 
dows pots of blooming roses ! I told the girl she 
must give me one of the roses, which I wondered at 
for blooming in such a dark, dull old room ; and she 
smiled and broke off the best and gave it me ; but 
I had hardly stepped outside the door with it before 
its petals dropped off, every one. Its life was weak 
in that imprisonment, and it died at a touch of fresli 



163 NOTES IN SCOTLAND. 

air. It made me think of many a delicate, tender 
prisoner that had become pale and faint on a sud- 
den exposure to the sun's rays. 

Then we met again the soldier, and he guided us 
down the steep stone stairs in the very narrow 
gorge — down, down, down — oh, me ! what a de- 
scent ! But finally it was accomplished, and we came 
out into the lower courts. In one of these courts, 
cannon-balls of various sizes were laid in geometri- 
cal forms of great beauty. But as I looked out 
from the castle-gate upon the lovety, peaceful sun- 
set scene, war seemed a myth and a phantom, and 
as if it had never been, and could never be — a fact. 
Earth, river, and sky, wrapped then in a glow of pale 
gold and purple, seemed echoing and emphasizing 
the simple, effectual law of Christ, scarcely heard 
yet by the world, but which if obeyed would make 
a heaven of this planet, and angels of men. 

July 2d. — At two o'clock we leave Dumbarton for 
Loch Lomond. We still have splendid weather. I 
must tell you, as history, that we have found the 
people of this hotel quite literary and refined in 
comparison with English landlords and landladies. 
When we ask for a book here, we can get it, but ex- 
cept at Skipton, we never have been so fortunate in 
England. This class of people are doubtless better 
educated here than there. 



IV. 

LOCH LOMOND AND THE BENS. 

Inter ANNAN, Glenfalloch, July 2(1. 

We have just arrived at the head of Loch Lomond, 
and farther still into the depths of the Highlands, 
into Rob Eoy's country, and scenes made classic 
by Walter Scott and Wordsworth. We thought we 
would come to the very end of the steamer's course, 
and therefore kept on to Inverannan, in Glenfalloch. 
The hotel is situated in a valley, which is a plain 
between lofty ranges of mountains — Ben Oss and 
Ben Douchray, Ben Crosh and Ben Eim, Ben Vain 
and Ben Voirlich, and above all, Ben Lomond. 
They have a bare, sterile aspect, but a grand out- 
line and elevation. The air here is nectar. We 
have been obliged to walk two miles from the land- 
ing to the hotel ; but the road was good and per- 
fectly level, so that I held out bravely. There was 
no carriage to be found. Part of the way was lovely 
with thickets and roses, and how I wish I could en- 
close you an exquisite wild-rose which I plucked in 
passing, for it has the wonderful odor of the tea-rose. 



164 NOTES IN SCOTLAND. 

Evening — but not dusk by any means. — We left 
Dumbarton at noon, and came by rail to Ballocli, and 
then took the steamer for Loch Lomond. In the 
railroad carriage, we skirted along the valley of 
the Leven, beautifully verdant, and saw constantly 
beyond the majestic Ben Lomond, towering grandly 
over all. After entering Kenton, Smollett's monu- 
ment is seen on the right. He was born close by 
that spot, and wrote pretty poetry about the river 
Leven, which winds along the valley. 

" On Leven's banks when fi'ee to rove, 
And tune the rural pipe to love," &c. 

At Balloch — no, we first passed through Alexan- 
dria and Bonhill, and then Balloch, and there I was 
delighted with a very graceful suspension bridge 
over the " soft river " (the meaning of Leven). It 
was built by Sir John Colquhoun, of Luss. At Bal- 
loch we embarked and were afloat on Loch Lomond, 
queen of Scottish lakes, thirty-two miles long. Cas- 
tles and stately mansions, many of them full of his- 
torical and poetical interest, rose up on every side. 
Cameron House, where Alexander Smollett, a de- 
scendant of the novelist, resides, and Arden, in which 
is the original portrait of Bob Boy. I wish I could 
have seen the old feudal fortress of Bannachra, 
where the Colquhouns lived, with whom the Mac- 
gregors had deadly strife and won the victory, and 
slew two hundred Colquhouns. Now a large island 



LOCU LOMOND AND THE BENS. 1G5 

seemed nearly to cross the lake. It was beautifully 
green, of a bright sunny green, and contrasted won- 
derfully with the dark mountains above and beyond. 
Its name is Inch Mun-ain (Inch means island). It is 
the deer-park of the Duke of Montrose. On one 
end are the ruins of a castle of the Earls of Lenox. 
Near by, on the mainland, is a mansion where 
Walter Scott often visited. It is Ross Prior}^, the 
residence of Lady Leith Buchanan. In that house 
Sir Walter wrote the romance of Rob Roy ! Then 
comes a sharply-pointed hill, call Duncruin — hill of 
witches — famous in legends ; and Balmaha, the fa- 
mous pass mentioned in the " Lady of the Lake," is 
a little way inland — 

" So fierce, so tameless, and so fleet, 
Sore did he cumber our retreat, 
And kept our sternest kerns in awe 
Even at the pass of Balmalia — " 

Another lovely island now comes in sight round a 
curve, called Inch Cailliach (Isle of Women), where 
was once a nunnery, and where very ancient graves 
of chiefs are found. Five or six more Inches Ave 
pass, and so you see how studded with isles Loch 
Lomond is — all so lovely with copses and rocks, and 
each famous for something. And as we wound 
about them, the lordly ranges of mountains kept 
changing their relations to one another, as well as 
their lights and shadows, — rising also one beyond 
another, like an ever-heaving, mighty sea, rolling 



166 NOTES IN SCOTLAND. 

sky-liigli, firmly fixed, yet seeming in constant mo- 
tion. I quite agree with Buskin about mountain 
scenery ; like Gothic architecture it has the effect 
of aspiration, struggling upward. 

Now we drew into the bay of Luss, where some of 
our passengers landed, and after resuming our way 
onward, we soon had on our right Robert de Bruce's 
Isle of Yews — Inch Lonarg — upon which he planted 
yews for making bows. There is now a growth of 
yews upon it, dark and thick, children of those 
planted half a thousand years ago by the illustrious 
de Bruce. Perhaps there are some grand old stumps 
left of the identical trees of that time, and I wished 
to stop and explore. But inexorably we steamed 
on, without the smallest regard to poetical longings, 
and had a glimpse of Glen Douglas. Douglas ! what 
a name ! and I really saw what once belonged to 
them ! The river Glass flows into the lake from this 
glen, and Ben Glass towers over it. Immediately 
above Bowardennan, the next pier, the king of Bens, 
Ben Lomond himself, climbs to the stars in three 
vast waves, the midmost the highest, three thousand 
two hundred feet above the level of the lake. All 
who wished to ascend upon the monarch's shoulders 
and stand upon his head, left us here, where there 
are ponies and guides. From his head can be seen 
Stirling and Edinburgh Castles, Goat Fell in the 
Isle of Arran, the passes of Jura and Ailsa Crag. 
There are a great many shooting-lodges now upon 
the sides of the hills, belonging to Scotch and Eng- 



LOCH LOMOND AND TUE BEN8. 1G7 

lish gentlemen. Just beyond Kowardennan a pro- 
montory juts out called Forken, and on its top is a 
little lake, used long ago by the Fairies to dye tlio 
wools of the country people in. The trustful people 
deposited their wools on the shores of the fairy lake 
at evening, and in the morning when they came for 
them they were all^ ready, and of exactly the colors 
they wished ; but at last, a foolish, faithless wight, 
as a practical joke, placed a budget of black wool 
and a bit of white alongside for a pattern. This so 
offended the small folk, that they threw all their 
colors into the loch and disappeared. Fortunate 
persons, who now look down into the pure water 
properly, can see these magical hues at the bottom, 
mingling together like the tints of a kaleidoscope, in 
ever-varying, marvellous patterns. But we had not 
even a chance to try our luck, our captain remorse- 
lessly steaming past the spot. 

"We were now especially in Kob Roy's realm, and 
I saw the sheer rock rising perpendicularly from the 
water, from which that resolute and uncompromis- 
ing gentleman was in the habit of dipping his 
enemies, and those of his adherents who differed 
from him, till they concluded to be his friends or 
saw fit to agree with him in opinion. He tied a 
rope round the waist of the delinquent, and kept 
him under the water awhile to cool his rage or damp 
his enterprise, and then raised him a moment just 
to ask whether he would be good. If he said "no," 
down he went again, and if there were determined 



1G8 NOTES IN SCOTLAND. 

resistance, without hope of amendment, Eob Roy 
tied the rope round the neck of the unfortunate man, 
and then dipped him for the last and the fatal time. 

The Lord of Lorn once defeated the bold outlaw, 
and he took refuge in a little cave just beyond this 
rock of execution. 

Ben Lomond ranged now on our right, and a 
strangely cut peak on the left, called the Cobbler and 
his Wife, and just at this point a wonderful assem- 
blage of mountains opened u]3on us. Gigantic 
sweeps of outline, all softly flowing to the lake, 
flowing, flowing, and lost in the waters — and also 
rising from the waters upward, upward, like a strain 
in one of Beethoven's sublime symphonies, which 
seemed to me, when I heard it, like the human 
soul's cry, prayer, demand for light, wisdom, and 
help. 

The boat stopped at Inversnaid, but we concluded 
to keep on, as I told you in the beginning. A 
wonderfully beautiful and romantic glen comes to 
view, near to Inversnaid, on the opposite shore, on 
each side of which mighty Bens loom up — Ben 
Crosh and Ben Eim, and craggy, rugged Ben Yain 
on the left, and lovely, though grand, Ben Voirlich 
on the right. Ben Voirlich is peculiarly tender in 
aspect, though of vast proportions. It is something 
in his nature that gives him this gentle expression, 
no doubt, and it may be the effect of a shy little tarn 
on its summit, where the angler can always find 
trout. That tarn may be the pure soul of this huge 



LOCH LOMOND AND THE BENS. 1G9 

old Ben, into which the heavens constant!}^ gaze, 
and which itself holds the heavens in its depths. 
Loch Lomond becomes narrower just here, and the 
shores are enchanting, and the next memorable ob- 
ject we saw was Rob Roy's great cave. There are 
large rocks tumbled about the place, and on one that 
is exactly over the opening the captain pointed to a 
mark which identified the entrance. * * * ^ ->:- ^ 
The scenery is very rich all about it. Robert de 
Bruce also concealed himself there before the battle 
of Bannockburn, when the English were hunting for 
him. 

" The Braes of Balquhidder" are north of Invers- 
naid, where Rob Roy is buried. Meantime, during 
my memories, we are going on, and a sweet little 
Inch is at hand. It is covered with trees, but by 
carefully peering in I saw the ruins of a castle. 
The name of the island is '* I vow." It belonged to 
the clan of McFarlane, and one of its chiefs built 
the castle, saying " I vow no other clansman shall 
pass by." Directly ahead of us now rose Ben Oss 
and Ben Douchray, and then we approached Inver- 
annan, where we landed. **"-5«-**AsI sat upon 
the upper deck all the time, I had a full view of the 
passengers as well as of the lake and mountains. 

It was all in harmony to hear the Scotch dialect 
and accent on every side. Mothers calling out to 
their bairns " Take care, noo ! sit doon or ye'll fa'." 
" Dinna put the roup in yer mou, it's nae gude ;" 
and so on. The lake was not smooth to-day, and a 

8 



170 NOTES IN SCOTLAND. 

gentleman told us we lost a great deal by not seeing 
it like a mirror, reflecting all the majestic moantains. 

I established myself on the lower deck, and sat 
near a group of folk, one man of whom was reading 
aloud a trial for poisoning. They were so absorbed 
by it that they did not look at the scenery, which 
amazed me. Yet, perhaps, they had often gone up 
Loch Lomond, as they were Scotchmen, with intel- 
ligent, amiable faces, though rather rough. 

So we came to Inverannan, in the county of Glen- 
falloch, and learned with some dismay that the hotel 
was two miles from the spot where we were to dis- 
embark, and that there was no carnage of any kind 
to convey us, but only a light cart for the luggage. 
We questioned whether I could walk so far after the 
fatigue at Dumbarton, but I accomplished the feat 
very well. We sauntered, entirely at our leisure, 
along the charming road. Oh, the gurgling burns 
at the foot of the wooded braes ! Oh, the sweetbrier- 
roses, foxgloves, daisies, and purple-bells, and the 
desolate, grand, steep Bens that shut us into the 
quiet vale ! rising instantly, not gradually from the 
even plain. Papa mourned after wooded mountain- 
sides ; but I was content with the sublime forms 
without any drapery. There was no lace, nor ruf- 
fles, nor flounces upon my Highlands hereabouts, 
and not even a skirt. Naked and awful they stood — 
Michelangelic forms, even as gods, conversing with 
tho skies. The pure, high air winged my feet, and I 
never felt better in my life. Here I sit now in a 



LOCH LOMOND AND THE BENS. 171 

pretty parlor, and we also have comfortable bed- 
rooms surrounded — yes ! give ear, England ! and 
never more boast a superiority to auld Scotia — sur- 
rounded with hospitable pegs and hooks ! ! ! Scot- 
land is not only the land o' cakes, but the land o' 
pegs, and poor mortals are not obliged to wander 
wild with despair round their chambers, holding 
their garments, and crying — " Oh, where shall I hang 
them ; oh where ?" 

I never saw a peg in England, and I believe Eu- 
rope cannot show one, so that Scotland and America 
alone excel in this kind. There are also an abun- 
dance of baths in this good country, though it is so 
abused for uncleanliness — and a great deal of vari- 
ous comfort. 

We are so far north now that during these sum- 
mer months there is properly no night, and there- 
fore I said it was evening but not dusk, in the begin- 
ning of this letter. The Gloaming meets the Dawn, 
and they join hands and dispense with Night alto- 
gether, and now they have the Moon also for boon 
companion. 

We have had the most enchanting stroll. At the 
end of a meadow, close beneath a great Ben, we saw 
the rudest little hut that ever took shape and was 
not a cave. It was built with stones, overgrown 
with moss, with no windows and one door. I can 
give you no idea by a sketch of the exceeding wild- 
ness of this wee shelter. We found also a very 
wonderful oak-tree, branching out from one root into 



172 NOTES IN SCOTLAND. 

fifteen boles, as if fifteen separate trees were spring- 
ing from it. Then we got into its midst and sat 
down, and it would have held you and E. also, and 
thus we should have been a whole family living in a 
tree. It had delightful forks for chairs. I compared 
it to a Briareus with one hundred legs, instead of 
arms — the said Briareus standing on his top, while 
his multitudinous legs sprouted into thousands of 
feet, and his thousands of feet into no end of toes, 
each toe flourishing out millions of whispering 
leaves, and so becoming finally a tree. Oh, Briareus, 
thou hast buried thy head with a noble result I * * ^ 

The sunshine played on the sides of Ben Voirlich 
(the tender-souled mountain), and papa took up a 
bit of slate from the ground and drew his profile, 
which is very irregular with rocks, and then we 
turned homeward, gathering delicate purple grasses 
on our way. 

July 3d. — It rains, and we are weather-bound, yet 
we mean to post down to the shore, and meet the 
afternoon steamer for Inversnaid. 



V. 

INYEESNAID AND LOCH KATEINE AND 
THE TKOSACHS. 

July 3d, 1857. 
Here we are now at the veritable waterfall, where 
Wordsworth met the Highland girl, and we hear the 
musical flow from the hotel, but do not see it, and it 
pours a heavy rain. We left Inverannan about an 
hour ago, in a covered phaeton, and were obliged to 
run from it down to the brink of the lake, through 
the wet grass, and then, in the steamer, I must, per- 
force, stay in the cabin all the time, and could only 
see a little from the side-windows. What a loss ! 
Mists were on the mountain-tops and trailing down 
the sides like mantles of illusion lace ; but I saw 
again Eob Boy's cave. If it were fair weather we 
could go there this afternoon, either in a boat or by 
climbing over rocks. But, immitigably, down falls 
the rain, and to-morrow we shall go to Loch Katrine 
in a stage-coach, and take a steamer at one end and 
proceed to the other. * ^ * From our parlor 
windows we look directly across the lake into the 
romantic glen of Inveruglass. Ben Eim and Ben 
Yoirlich, Ben Vain and Ben Crosh rise up on either 



174 NOTES IN SCOTLAND. ' - 

side. They are now almost wholly enveloped in 
mist ; but when it clears I hope to sketch them. 

July 4th. — When I looked out this morning I had 
hope for fair weather, and the sun has been actually 
shining. Before breakfast I visited the waterfall, 
so as to make sure of it. We climbed up a path to 
a little wooden bridge, which is built over it mid- 
way. It is very pretty from the bridge, and yet it 
seems a pity to have placed a bridge there, as it is 
not a lovely arch, but only a straight, common affair. 
Why will man make a straight line when a curve is 
possible ? I thought I should like the view better 
from below, and so I ran down to some rocks directly 
in front of the foaming cascade, and it was far more 
satisfactory from that point. The glen of Inveru- 
glass was hidden in thick mist, and not a mountain 
could be seen before breakfast. Indeed, it has been 
clear enough only within an hour to perceive the 
entire outlines. Now they are grand. Ben Crosli is 
nearest on the left. Ben Vain is on the right, as 
you enter the glen ; but from this window it looks 
very much in the centre, and is bold and conical. 
Ben Yoirlich rises from the edge of the water, half 
concealing Ben Yain. Ben Eim is behind Ben 
Crosh, and now has a turban of thick India muslin 
on, so that I cannot trace the line of his head. * * ^ 

After breakfast we walked along the road which 
leads to Loch Katrine. It was constructed by the 
Duke of Montrose for the benefit of travellers, and 
it winds round in a very comfortable manner, pro- 



I^^VEIlSyAID. 175 

tected on the steep side by a fence made of young 
oak of a year's growth, woven like basket-work. We 
sat down on the rocks at the second turn of the road, 
whence we had a fine view of the glen, and also of 
the lake toward Rowardennan, over which Ben Lo- 
mond uplifts himself. He " the likeness of a kingly 
crown has on" this morning of folded cloud, and I 
have not seen his highest height to-day. While we sat 
aloft the steamer arrived from Balloch, and gave forth 
a great many people, who nearly all mounted into an 
omnibus for Loch Katrine. It was so full that many 
gentlemen were constrained to walk, and we were 
glad we had decided to go at four p. M. We then con- 
cluded to take a boat and visit Rob Ro3^'s cave. 
The lake was charming to row upon, and is very 
deep just at Inversnaid — I think a hundred fathoms 
deep. The shores on the right, as we glided along, 
were richly wooded and green ; but on the left the 
Brothers Ben rose up bare and rugged, with a small 
fringe of trees round a cottage at the base of Ben 
Voirlich. The air was soft and the sun hot, and I 
trust that the cold, chilly weather has passed. We 
arrived in less than half an hour, and our oarsman 
helped us climb the crags nicely. We descended 
into the depths. Bob Boy, with twenty men, used 
to remain there together in pretty small quarters ; 
yet there is as much space as in a room of a High- 
land cottage, perhaps. Light comes in through two 
or three crevices ; but an entrance can be effected 
by one only, and that one could be well defended 



i:g notes in Scotland. 

from 9,n intruder. Not a very sumptnons palace for 
a king, as King Kobert Bruce probably thought 
when he fled there from his English pursuers. There 
is a ladder by which we descended into the lowest 
part, and there I stood, after knocking my head 
twice, at the risk of spoiling my pretty bonnet, too, 
though I believe it is not injured. 

The cave does not seem to be a natural hollow in 
a rock, but a result of the falling together of great 
boulders, leaving open spaces. The boatman told 
us that it was Eob Roy's property, and that he 
owned the land for ten miles, as far from here as 
E-owardennan. The water is beautifully clear, dia- 
mond clear, and of a golden color. This mountain 
spring-water is delicious to drink — the first I have 
tasted in Britain not hard. August is the time for 
the heather to bloom, but I saw a wee tuft of crim- 
son color on a rock in a warm nook. Farewell for a 
few hours. 

The Tkosachs! 

Macgregor's Hotel, Head of Loch Katrine, 
Fourth of July — Evening. 

We have celebrated the day of the Declaration of 
Independence in a very delightful manner. We left 
Inversnaid this afternoon. 

Before the stage-coach set forth for Loch Katrine, 

papa and J started on foot, enjoying much better 

to walk till they were tired. There was room for 



TEE TROSACHS. Ill 

sixteen in the cnrriage ; but there were only two 
gentlemen, and my ain sel was the only lady. The 
gentlemen were Germans, as I discovered by the 
"neins," and '-jas," and " echs ;" but they spoke 
English as well. They stationed themselves on the 
driver's box, and so I had all the rest of the fifteen 
seats at my disposal. The road which we owe to 
his Grace the Duke of Montrose, winds along on 
a shelf, exactly after the manner of that road in 
Madeira, up which you and I and R. were borne in 
palanquins or litters. On our left were the braes, 
and on our right below rushed the Arkhill, which 
forms the falls of Inversnaid as it hurries into the 
loch. It was very beautiful and refreshing, singing 
its loud song over the rocks. Where its banks were 
high, the huge boulders had tumbled in from age to 
age, so that the small river has much ado to get 
along, but having a downward impetus, along it will 
and must get, and its persistence and importunity 
are very musical, and it roars like a thousand night- 
ingales. The descent to the stream from the road 
is quite precipitous, and the basket-fence is not 
finished, so that after a mile or so, we could have 
pitched over as well as not. It all depended upon 
the driver of our carriage — his skill and his soberness. 
It seemed to me that I should never overtake 

papa and J . The hills were wild and bare for 

a good distance, and had no names. Small stone 
hovels here and there appeared on the moors, lonely 
and forlorn, and then we came to the ruins of a 



ns KOTES IN SCOTLAND. 

stone fort, which the English built to protect the 
surrounding people from the terrible Macgregors. 
In 1718, General Wolfe was stationed there. 

As I could not reach my foot travellers, I turned 
round to look behind, when lo ! such a glorious 
vision burst upon me, as I had not yet seen among 
these Highlands. We were high and far off, but 
exactly opposite, was the glen of Ivern glass — and 
all those lofty Bens that cluster there had risen in 
glory and ascended into the heavens. Let me try 
to tell you how. They were half- wrapped in deli- 
cate gauzes, and the sun, which was not shining on 
us nor on the intervening spaces, was pouring a 
flood of silver-gold splendor into the glen, in front 
of which a dark hill stood. So that the effect was 
precisely as if the sun had dropped into the glen, 
and was shining up from it, and with a million 
arrows of light was piercing the mists that hovered 
just beneath the summits of Ben Crosh and Ben 
Vain, in such a way that they appeared miles in 
height. Indeed they seem to have no end, but to 
be lost in the heavens. You have observed at sun- 
set or toward sunset, how rays are marked on the 
sky from the sun (when veiled in clouds), to the 
horizon. Now fancy the sun hidden in a deep vale, 
and the rays streaming up from it to the zenith in- 
stead of down from it to the horizon. Prismatic hues 
played about the mists like the changes in a pearl 
shell, and the whole wonderful pageant was on such 
a gigantic scale that I was breathless with astonish- 



THE TROSACIIS. 170 

ment. Fancy a dim twilight world of giant propor- 
tions, Cliimborazos and Himalayas piled up, enclos- 
ing passes of awful depth, or assembled in majestic 
conclave around one deepest fell. Fancy them 
thinly enveloped in illusive vapor, which allows, 
here and there, an outline to be discerned, and then 
let the Great Carl)uncle suddenly blaze out from the 
abysses, and shoot aurora borealises upward, and 
transmute white mists into rainbow tissues, and by 
the singular refraction or reflection magnifying every 
line and mass into a vastness beyond comprehen- 
sion. But it is not possible to show it to you by 
words. 

The German gentlemen were all this while look- 
ing straight ahead, not having the remotest idea 
of these glories, and after reflecting, I considered it 
my duty to tell them. "Wunderbar," "Wunder- 
schon!" they shouted in a rapture, and we all sat 
with twisted necks in a helpless state of exclamation 
for a long time. I say " helpless," but perhaps 
" vain" would be an apter word, for exclaim as wo 
might in German or English, we could not adequate- 
ly express our emotions, No expression has been 
coined that would fit the case, and we were obliged 
to ease off into " oh's" and " all's." And I truly 
believe that these little ejaculations often save the 
lives of poor mortals. They are blessed safety- 
valves when the shows of Creation are too much for 
us, and I dare say ^' Oh" was Adam's first utterance 
when he found himself standing with open eyes in 



180 NOTES IN SCOTLAND. 

Paradise. And I was so afraid papa and J 

might not look back ! 

The head of hnge Ben Yenue now appeared in the 
distance, the very Ben Yenue, dear, which overlooks 
your beloved Loch Katrine, Ellen's lake. It did not 
seem possible that I was really so happy as to see 
it, and I then especially wished for you by my side 
on one of the empty fifteen seats. * * -^ ^ Now I 

saw papa and J far ahead, and we overtook them 

directly. We then passed the small Loch Arklet, 
which might reflect Ben Lomond when smooth, and 
then we arrived at Stronaclachar, where is a hotel 
and a pier, and a pretty screw steamer was waiting 
for us on the shores of Loch Katrine itself ! Into 
this we immediately entered and settled ourselves 
in the prow, so as to see all before us without hin- 
drance. 

^ 4f * * Xjoch Katrine opens with a wide and 
lovely expanse of water which seems quite shut in 
by the hills, as if it were finished off at once, holding 
a small island on its bosom. We were a weary while 
waiting at the pier, and I could conceive no reason 
why — but each thing has an end, and so had our 
dela}''. Upon arriving at the little island aforemen- 
tioned, which is r^fered with trees and shrubs, Ben 
Chochan can be seen, but there is no name to the 
bare mountain bases that are washed by the waters 
all along here. The Lord Willoughby d'Eresby 
owns the left side of the lake, and the Duke of Mont- 
rose the right, so that Aberfoyle is his. There are 



THE TROSACHS. 131 

several passes on each side, and in Portnellen, a 
pass on Lord Willoughby's side, once lived Rob Roy. 
You well remember Malcolm Grgeme, so that you 
will be interested to know that the family name of 
his Grace of Montrose is Grahame, or as the Scotch 
pronounce it, Graeme. 

The broad waters of the Loch wind in great curves 
round the various promontories and headlands, so 
that constantly we seemed to see the whole, and 
then a turn brought to view still remoter reaches, 
and as we approached Ellen's Isle, the sterile moun- 
tain-sides changed to richly-wooded steeps. Before 
this change, however, I ought to tell you of a mag- 
nificent glen, or pass, which we saw on the left. 
Heavy clouds hung over that region, tinging the 
bold, vast heap of rock and stubble perfectly black, 
while close to the lake, long hills swept down to the 
brim, of the richest, brightest green — not of the 
texture of velvet, but exactly like chenille, soft and 
uneven like that, and delicious in verdure. The 
water was like ink beneath these black masses, 
so that papa proposed I should fill my inkstand 
with it, as just before I left Inversnaid, I upset my 
little portable. But we have traversed the inky 
flood, and passed the mighty pass, and now glide 
into peculiarly enchanted realms. Sir Walter stood 
thereabout with magic wand, and the whole boat's 
company assembled amidships when Ellen's Isle 
came in view, as if it were the promised land. What 
is like the power of genius ! The captain told his 



183 NOTES IN SCOTLAND. 

own minute stones, as if Ellen, and the Douglas, and 
Eoderic once lived and loved and fought ; and, in 
our imagination, did not we all devoutly believe so ? 
The island is much smaller than I had fancied, 
but lovely, and entirely covered with trees and 
shrubs, as are all "the banks and braes" at this end 
of the loch, w^hile far above rises Ben Yenue, rugged 
and stern. Opposite to it — 

" Ben An heaves \i\g\i. his forehead bare." 

The beauty and richness seem to increase as we 
go on from Ellen's Isle. Scott's description of its 
innumerable riches only mirrors the plain fact. 

I looked with all my eyes at every side. I wished 
to be Ai'gus, so as to see all round at once, and not 
lose anything behind while I was gazing before, or 
on one hand while looking on the other. Alas ! 
however, we have but two eyes, and we are bound to 
be thankfal when they both look the same way, in- 
stead of in different directions. 

It is one wilderness of thickly -wooded hills at the 
head of the lake, and then begins the pass of the 
Trosachs. Two carriages, one open and one closed, 
awaited us there, and we preferred the open one, so 
as to enjoy the prospect. There had been only a 
slight sprinkling of rain during our voyage of ten 
miles, and though now it threatened somewhat, I 
thought I would take the risk. The whole narrow 
road was enchanting from beginning to end, over- 
hung with trees, guarded well by Ben Venue and 



THE TROSACIIS. 183 

Ben An on either hand, with small burns gleaming 
among the wayside shrubbery, and flowers and sweet- 
brier hanging out long wreaths of roses. 

Soon another lake — Loch Achray — opens the pass. 
Round this water the hills are much lower. Trosachs 
means Bristled Territory. Two arched stone bridges 
span a river that flows from Loch Achray to Loch 
Yennachar. 

So now on the shores of Loch Achray, we drove 
up to a castellated building, Macgregor's Hotel, built 
by Lord Willoughby d'Eresby. It has corner 
towers which J disrespectfully called pepper- 
boxes ; but which are castle-like, and in one of them 
is our parlor. It is a delightful room, with four 
lancet windows like a true turret. So at last I am 
living in a tower, as I always wished to do. One 
lancet opens upon Ben Venue, another upon the 
lake. It is wainscoted with polished oak, and the 
deep embrasures and furniture are also of oak. The 
walls are hung with a mosaic pattern, crimson and 
wood-color. The carpet is crimson Brussels, and 
the couches and chairs have crimson-velvet cushions. 
No Macgregor of former days ever lived in such a 
fine castle as this. 

After tea we strolled out toward Callender, with 
Loch Achray on our right. A tiny little stone kirk 
soon came in sight, which we walked round, and 
then sat down on a comfortably low parapet to gaze 
about. The water was smooth, and perfectly re- 
flected the purple and gold clouds of sunset, and 



ISi KOTES IN SCOTLAND. 

there were actually level lands on its banks, wliile 
Ben Yenue rose aloft. Ben An from one point pre- 
sented a perfect pyramid, and it is really difficult to 
say what shape any mountain has, the form changes 
so much at different points of view. Until we are 
very close upon Ben Lomond, however, its shape 
holds, always like a head and shoulders. 

It was in the pass of the Trosachs, you know, that 
Fitz-James stumbled and fell when he was hunting. 
It was formerly a mere gorge where now the good 
road winds. We gathered here from a wild eglan- 
tine three roses — one a shut-bud, but showing the 
lovely pink petals — another not quite half opened, 
and a third just ready to unfold, but curved over the 
stamens. We named them after three children we 
know, and they are the prettiest of portraits. 

It was nearly nine o'clock when we got back to 

the hotel, still day, and though I wished very much 

to go to Loch Katrine, we concluded to defer our 

visit there. 

****** 

July 6th. — The waiter came with a request that 
we would dine at the table d'hote, because it was 
Sunday, and the servants wanted rest and leisure ; 
and I could not but consent, though I was very 
sorry. So we went down into the dining-hall, which, 
in harmony with the rest of the castle, had an un- 
ceiled roof of polished rafters of oak, in gothic peaks, 
and an oaken wainscot. On one side was a broad 
window of painted glass, with three lights.^ Oppo- 



THE TROSACHS. 185 

site me hung the portrait of some redoubtable hero, 
Eobert de Bruce, Eob Eoy, or Macgregor, I pre- 
sume. Between two windows, at one end, was a 
picture of a bishop, and opposite him a convex 
mirror, surmounted by an eagle. 

The table was exactly full, and I saw hardly one 
comely person. Two young gentlemen in gray, and 
a young clergyman at the top of the table, were 
good-looking, but only one individual in the room 
was eminently handsome. There fell great pauses 
in talk, one of which I broke by saying to papa, 
" What a pretty dining-hall this is !" and my pro- 
found remark proved quite a blessing, for they all 
began to speak of it to one another, and continued 
to keep up a babble to the end. 

After dinner it was clear and fine, and we went to 
walk, and decided to go to Loch Katrine through the 
famous pass of the Trosachs. We were guarded on 
each side by Ben An and Ben Yenue ; and there 
were the wildest fells, the steepest precipices, beet- 
ling crags, singing burns, and plumy foliage — every 
combination in form and texture of soft beauty and 
rugged grandeur. When we arrived at the lake, we 
saw our pretty steamer moored fast, resting over 
Sunday, and several row-boats also. Two thatched 
buildings are on the margin of the water, one of 
them covered with moss and lichens, and large 
clusters of a white flowering plant. The front of 
this hut was ornamented with devices made of sap- 
lings twisted into ornaments in alto-relievo. The 



ISa NOTES^ m 8C0TXAND. 

other was a shelter for animals. Before us lay 
Ellen's Lake, shut in by the promontories and 
capes, so as to seem very tiny, while Ben Venue, 
the mighty sentinel, kept watch on the left of the 
dream-haunted spot. 

Some friendly dry boards were piled up near the 
cattle-shed, and I had a good rest there, after a walk 
of a mile and a quarter. One way in which we dis- 
cover the vastness of Ben Venue is by finding that 
he always seems just alongside, go as far as you 
will. A mantle of mist about his shoulders, and a 
gleam of sunshine from behind a cloud, would at 
once make him appear of infinite altitude. He has 
thrown off (if he ever had an}^) all his " lendings" 
from head and body, but there are heaps of drapery 
of richest material fallen at his feet ; — such lovely, 
feathery garments, as if his royal robes had been of 
emerald marabouts intermingled with ostrich plumes 
and a great deal of pea-green chenille trimming. 
The gem of purest water that erewhiles dropped 
from his loosened gabardine is the lake itself. It 
seemed very small as we looked at it from our pile 
of boards. 

We made up our minds to go on to Ellen's Isle, 
though it was rather far, but there was no other way 
to see it unless there had been a donkey for me, or 
it had been a week-day and we could have hired a 
boat. So we took the delightful path that is made 
on the borders of the water sometimes, and some- 
times farther inland. It is about twelve feet broad, 



THE TROSACUS. 187 

and just as wild, lovely, and varied as woodland path 
can be, and made tuneful by mountain rills which 
run across the way into the lake : often walled in, 
too, by horrent crags that rise up from the level 
ground, wedging the innocent air with sharp points, 
though often wrapping their " epouvantables ter- 
reurs" in mantles of heath and moss. The purple 
heath was in early bloom along the sides, and I 
gathered some for you. I did not see the " light 
harebell" that " raised its head elastic from her 
airy tread" — which is a pity ; but at last, at last, 
came " the snow-white beach" to which Ellen shot 
her shallop when she heard the bugle, and directly 
opposite this was her island home ! The sun had 
now come fully out, the wind was still, and it was a 
scene of perfect repose and loveliness. Though, as 
I said before, the isle looks smaller than I expected, 
yet distances and scenes are very difficult to estimate 
correctly across water, and I think it may be found 
large when close upon it. It is thickly wooded and 
there are cliffs and rocks, and we are bound to sup- 
pose there are ruins of the castle of the Douglas 
somewhere within the recesses. What castle that 
we see is so real to our hearts and fancies as this ? 
There is a beautiful bay made by a peninsula that 
reaches far beyond the island, and the beach is cov- 
ered with white stones — some of which we gathered 
up for you. I walked all over it, so as perchance to 
set my foot where " Snowdoun's Knight " set his, as 
he descended from the thickets to step into " the 



188 NOTES IN SCOTLAND, 

liglit shallop" of the Lady of the Lake. Just as 
the perfect reflection of the surrounding landscape 
looks more real and finished, as well as lovelier than 
the tangible scene, so the dreams of poets are more 
truth than very facts. The Douglas, the Graeme 
in spirit had been there. Ellen Hved and breathed — 

" Her head thrown back, her lips apart, 
Like monument of Grecian art." 

Papa found a stone, hollowed like a little cup — 
and we drank of the dissolved diamond dropped 

from Ben Yenue's regal vestments. J lay down 

prostrate and took a reviving draught, and we 
mused and gazed till about eight o'clock. The sun 
had not yet set, and the long gold lights and shad- 
ows were enchanting ; but we were obliged to com- 
mence our return, because there were more than 

two miles to walk. J ran on before us, and just 

as we were coming opposite an enormous cliff, we 
heard him shouting aloft — 

" And like a sheet of burnished ,^old, 
Loch Katrine lies before me rolled !" 

How little he supposed he should repeat those 
lines in the very place where Fitz-James himself 
stood, perhaps, when he first heard them read in 
Leamington. The setting sun threw wonderful gold 
floods over the wooded braes and slopes and through 
the glades ; and once in the dark depths of forest, 
a single group of trees flamed in its beams like fire. 



THE TROSACnS. 189 

What a country is Great Britain ! Every atom 
of it is a jewel. History and poetr}^ transmute into 
precious stones every particle of its dust. One can- 
not look abroad or plant his foot, but a thousand 
illustrious shades spring up before him — noble deeds 
and creations of genius make it fairy- land. And 
full as it is of riches, it is so small that we can fold 
our arms round it and love it and enjoy it. Hail 
Britannia ! 




VI. 

BEIDGE OF ALLAN. 

July 6th, 1857. 

Here we are — arrived at the most famous of the 
Scottish Spas, at the Queen's Hotel, and we are most 
unexpectedly here, as I will tell you. 

We left the Trosachs at nearly four o'clock, in a 
mail-coach, for Stirling. The coach had a small 
body or calyx, and a very wide-spreading corolla. 
We three and a stranger-lady were in the cslyx, and 
innumerable people were perched upon the corolla, 
like so many heea ; and such a gorgeous king-bee as 
the driver was you will never see, unless you see one 
of her Majesty's mail-coachmen in a new scarlet 
coat. Every time he appeared in sight, I heard the 
sound of trumpets, and the landscape kindled. M}^ 
scarlet bee buzzed about so long, without apparent 
aim, that we were quite tired of waiting. You, per- 
haps, remember the coachman from Newby Bridge 
to Milnthorpe. He looked like a huge moth-miller 
in his light-drab wrapper, but I liked him better 
than this scarlet creature, though not his coat so 
well. Finally we bowled off very pleasantl3\ The 



BRIDGE OF ALLAN. 191 

road skirted Loch Acliray, and then a valley through 
which a stream wound to Loch Vennachar, the Tro- 
sach crags continuing on our left till we came to a 
hotel. But j&rst we passed the Bridge of Turk 
(vide " the chase " in the Lady of the Lake) and 
saw the River Turk rushing down Glenfinlass — a 
broad glen with bleak mountains rising from it — 
and of course I thought of Fitz-James, who dashed 
over this bridge on his " gallant gray," when pur- 
suing the stag. The huts of Duncraggan then 
came in sight, built in the open space near the glen, 
singular, desolate old huts. Now Loch Vennachar 
(lake of the fair valley) opened upon our right, and 
opposite, on the left, giant Ben Ledi lifted its 
double-headed top, one of the four highest Bens in 
Scotland (3,000 feet). After passing the loch, we 
began to see a most lovely valley in the distance — a 
river winding through it, and a town situated on the 
fairest plain, broad and bright, with richly wooded 
cliffs sweeping up in long curves from it, and Ben 
Ledi growing more and more grand as we left his 
immediate vicinity. I wish you to have an image 
of this valley. It took a character of vastness, it 
was so exceedingly smooth and wide, and gave me 
the impression that everything was cleared away at 
last, allowing plenty of room to breathe and con- 
sider, while the heights which closed it in afar off 
gave an effect of comfortable and comprehensible 
space, while plains that reach to the horizon almost 
weary one with their indefinite immensity. George 



192 NOTES IN SCOTLAND. 

Herbert, in one of his divine poems, speaks of the 
Lord's " transparent rooms" — and tliis seemed one 
of them, though on earth, and not in heaven. I 
think it must be after this valley that the loch is 
named Vennachar, fair. Before us were blue dis- 
tances, probably including Stirling Heights, and as 
we drew nearer the vision grew more beautiful, and 
a bridge of three arches, the midmost the tallest, 
captivated my eyes, so eager and grateful for curves. 
The Teith is a tolerably wide river, flowing over 
rocks, and, in some places extremely shallow, so that 
when Bob Eoy was chased over it he need scarcely 
have wetted his flying feet. We stopped at a hotel 
to change horses, and had twenty minutes to walk 
about. We went to the pretty bridge and looked 
down into its clear water, and saw tall trees droop- 
ing their branches into it to take a sip. The trees 
were quite lordly all round. The long street of Cal- 
lender is bordered by all kinds of thatched cottages, 
small inns, and low shops, not at all comely, but we 
saw some large, handsome villas among the groups 
of woods outside the thickly peopled part. Just as 
we were settled again in our calyx, another stranger- 
lady joined us ; a person who looked anxious and 
careful, as if she had so many children she did not 
know what to do, or some other great burden on 
her mind. She charged the driver over and over 
again to leave her at " the Queen's," as if she feared 
to be mislaid somewhere ; and when he had quieted 
her uneasy mind we resumed our way. The road 



BRIDGE OF ALLAN. 103 

now lay across a more level and desolate conutry. 
I put out my Lead to glance back once, and saw 
Ben Ledi standing alone like a monarch, a Saul 
among his brethren, taller by the head and shoul- 
ders than any other. 

We now came to Doune, where the rivers Teith 
and Ardoch meet, and at their confluence is an old 
ruined castle, making a stately picture ; and soon 
after leaving Doune I caught a glimpse of Stii'ling's 
storied height. I sa^v but for an instant an abrupt 
ascent from a plain, and a heap of turrets, and then 
it was all gone again. When we arrived at the Spa, 
the coach stopped at this hotel to allow our anxious 
passenger to alight, and I asked her about the hotels 
in Stirling. I supposed this was the town of Stir- 
ling, or immediately in the environs of it, and the 
hotel looked so large and inviting that I asked her 
if she could recommend it. " Oh, yes, she could," 
and so we decided to remain here, and did not dis- 
cover, till after our malles were in and our rooms 
engaged, that we were not at Stirling, but at the 
Bridge of Allan, three miles away, and that our 
fellow-traveller was the landlady of this very hotel, 
and that it was "the Queen's." The coach had 
driven away, however, and here we must stay, and 
it proves so very beautiful that w^e are not sorry. 
Scott has made the place memorable ; besides that 
it has natural advantages of situation. After tea we 
walked out, and found another great hotel, with 
gardens of rose-trees in full bloom, a pretty church 



194 NOTES IN SCOTLAND. 

of tlie Establisliment, a mighty fountain nearly 
ready to play, a nice little bowling-green, and a 
view of Stirling Castle. We then turned about to 
walk on the bridge. Near this are the original old 
cottages which first composed the village. The 
bridge has been renewed on one side ; but on the 
other looks very old, with two arches. It spans the 
Allan-water. " Allan" comes from a Celtic word — 
aluinn — meaning beautiful. The parish is named 
Logie, and is bounded on one side by Dumblane. 
We walked along a road leading to a church, wdiich 
gradually ascended. Embowered cottages were on 
our right hand, and under one clustering vine a 
w^oman sat knitting, and I asked her about the 
church. She said it was not an ancient one, but 
quite pretty inside ; so we did not visit it, and turned 
on our steps, when behold ! spread before us and on 
one side a magnificent prospect. The sun threw 
long beams of light from his closing eyes, and out 
of the rich, cultivated plain, rose in the midst the 
high crag upon which the renowned Stirling Castle 
is built. Nearer to us the Cliff Craigforth, less high, 
but perfectly beautiful and thickly wooded, seemed 
to invite another castle to crown its summit with 
battlements. A steep rock on the highest side I 
thought might be a ruined wall, but a woman near 
us said it was not. Farther to the east the Grand 
Abbey Craig swept up hke a wave, and on this the 
national monument to William Wallace is to be 
erected, and a nobler pedestal for the monument to 



BRIDGE OF ALLAN. 193 

a hero could not be found in any kingdom. It is 
far more superb than the elevation on which Stir- 
ling Castle stands, and there are remains of a wall 
on its face, which are a sign of, who knows what ? 
deeply interesting historic events in the vanished 
ages. 

Besides the three I have mentioned, there is 
another on the horizon over Craigforth, still keep- 
ing the form of the others, but after rising it con- 
tinues for miles and miles along. I believe it is 
" the OchQs." 




JSrOTES IN ITALY. 

I. 

ROMAN JOURNAL. 
PmciAN Hill. — Palazzo Larazani. 

RoivrE, February 14tb, 1858. 
We have been in Rome since the 20th January, 
and I have not written a word of journal. Till the 
2d it was bitterly cold, and afterward but little 
milder, and not sufficiently so to make my fingers 
flexible enough to hold a pen. On the 5th it be- 
gan to rain, the weather previously having been 
clear and brilliant. The rain softened the air, or it 
rained because the air was softer, and rained on till 
the 12th. Now, again, it is glorious sunshine and 
cold ; but every one says the winter has gone. I 
have not really commenced seeing Rome in earnest, 
and with accurate observation, but intend to do so 
after the Carnival. I have walked about, however, 
and had glimpses of what is before me. I have 



198 NOTES IN ITALY. 

spent one hour in St. Peters, walked tlirougli the 
Forum Romanum, and seen the Arch of Septimius 
Severus, the portico of the Temple of Saturn, the 
three beautiful columns of the Temple of Vespasian, 
the three of the Temple of Minerva Chalcidica, the 
single column erected to the Emperor Phocas, the 
Schola Xantha, the Temple of Faustina and Antoni- 
nus, the Saci a Via, terminated by the Arch of Titus. 
How I like to write down the illustrious names of 
what I have all my life long so much desired to see! 
I cluster them together like jewels, and exult over 
them. The Forum is a kind of vale, above which 
rises the Palatine on the right, as one approaches 
from the Corso ; while the Capitoline towers up be- 
hind the Arch of Septimius Severus, which is at 
the opposite end of the Forum to the Arch of Titus. 
I have wandered over the Coliseum, passing by the 
ruins of what was once called the Temple of Peace, 
but is now the Basilica of Constantine. At a dis- 
tance I have seen the ruins of the Palace of the Cae- 
sars, crowning the Palatine. I have driven under 
the Arch of Constantine, through the Porta San Se- 
bastiano, to the Appian Way, and passed under the 
Arch of Drusus to the tomb of the Scipios and the 
Columbaria, by the stupendous ruins of the Baths 
of Caracalla, and, outside the walls, back through 
the Porta Maggiore, upon the Piazza of St. John 
Lateran. Since the drive I have been into that 
grand old Basilica, and half looked at it ; also, into 
Santa Maria Maggiore, on the Esquiline. One day, 



BOMAX JOURNAL. li)9 

when alone, I clianced upon a most beautiful temple, 
with a mighty flank and portico, which I find to be 
the Temple of Mars Ultor, in the Forum of Angus- 
tus. I have been on the Quirinal, and seen the 
Greek groups of Castor and Pollux by Phidias and 
Praxiteles, before the Pontifical Palace ; and the 
Forum of Trajan (or the little that has been exca- 
vated of it), with the wonder of art, Trajan's col- 
umn, sculptured by Apollodorus, from top to base 
with hundreds of figures, in the highest style. This 
is a slight sketch and foretaste of the riches I have 
before me. * 

February 19th. — It is a superb and cold day. After 
breakfast we undertook to search out Santa Maria 
degl' Angeli on the Viminal. We went through the 
Via Felice, and passed the Piazza Barberini, in 
which is the Triton fountain — a stone basin, wherein 
sits a Triton with upturned head, spouting a thin 
line of water into the air, and then we ascended 
through the Via delle Quattro Fontane. On its high- 
est point the four fountains make the corners of the 
four ways. They are all at the angles of houses, 
and look very old, with recumbent figures, mostly 
without noses, quietly reposing by the ever-flowing 
streams. At this point, we turned to the left into 
the Via Porta Pia, while at the end of the Via Qui- 
rinalis on the right, we could see afar the obelisk, 
round which are the glorious groups of Castor and 
Pollux, with their horses, crowning the Monte Ca- 



200 NOTES IN ITALY. 

vallo, where we went the other day. We walked 
along by a dead wall for some time — probably the 
Barberini Palace Gardens — and then by the monas- 
tery and Church of Santa Susanna and Santo Ber- 
nardo, and Santa Maria della Yittoria, opposite to 
w^hich is the fountain of Termini. This is quite impo- 
sing, with a colossal statue of Moses in the centre, stri- 
king the Kock. Its old name was Fontana dell' Acqua 
Felice. There are four marble lions, with their heads 
turned toward one another, while out of their mouths 
flow the inexhaustible clear streams. The Moses is 
the work of Prospero di Brescia, who died of mor- 
tification at the derision which it called forth. But 
I do not see that it is so very absurd. It is a mighty 
old form. On each side are bas-reliefs, in one of 
which Aaron predominates — in the other, Gideon. 
The places of these four new marble lions w^ere once 
filled by four Egyptian lions of black granite, that 
w^ere removed from before the Pantheon — ^ivhich I 
think is unpardonable — and now the Pope has put 
them in the Vatican Museum. 

We saw no Basilica, and so we went on, passing 
the Villa Bonaparte, — a charming little mansion in 
the midst of green shrubbery, looking English in 
form and arrangement, but without the lovely velvet 
hnvns : then the Villa Torlonia, which seemed an 
Eden through the gates ; and the city wall limits it 
on one side. We went out of the Porta Via, designed 
by Michel Angelo. Upon the top of Michel Angelo's 
gate Pio Nono has built another story, as if for no 



ROMAIC JO URNAL. 20 1 

other reason than to put his name upon it ; for the 
popes emblazon their names in this way, all over 
Rome, on every ruin and church and wall, as if it 
were in the least interesting to read the names of 
popes, or that it is of any account to know what 
they did. I wish they would beautify and repair 
and restore, without marring their good deeds by 
illuminating their unimportant cognomens upon 
them, as if to proclaim — " It was I, Gregory, or 
Pius, or Benedict, YIL, YIII., or IX., and not Greg- 
ory, Pius, or Benedict, X., XI., or XII., who did this 
fine thing. Observe !" Near this spot is wondrous 
interest ; for it was not far off that Hannibal threw 
his spear over the wall of Servius TulUus, of which 
a portion still remains, stretching from the ancient 
Porta Collana. The Yia Porta goes straight over its 
site, and on the right hand is what is left of the 
venerable wall. Between it and the Yilla Torlonia 
is the Campus Sceleratus, where the vestal virgins, 
who had broken their vows, were buried alive. The 
Pretorian camp of Tiberius was near this dismal 
field of murder, still more to the northeast. Beli- 
sarius had also something to do with the walls sur- 
rounding the Pretorian camp. Beyond the gate afar 
off were the ever-lovely blue Sabine and Alban hills, 
snow-capped and of enchanting form. In the clear 
light of morning they looked like the Delectable 
mountains of Christian's dream, where all the saints 
were shining. No Saint Mary of the Angels, how- 
ever, was yet visible, and upon looking at the map 

ft* 



203 NOTES Hs ITALY. 

we found we had taken tlie wrong direction, and tliat 
we must return to the Fountain of Termini. So we 
retraced our waj, and went through the Piazza di 
Termini again, by the calm Lions, and the never- 
ending crystal streams, — more hke the ceaseless 
bounty of God than anything else — and, like His 
bounty, too much contemned and forgotten by these 
Bomans, who use it neither to make themselves nor 
their city clean, and who think those persons who 
drink it mad men and women. The grape flows for 
them, and the voice of the many waters calls to them 
in vain. We found a wide space beyond the Piazza, 
with avenues of trees leading two ways fi'om one 
point, like the tines of a fork, and at the end of one 
a gate of bronze, which we thought might be the 
entrance to the Basilica we sought. But it was the 
gate of a garden of the Yilla Negroni, where Craw- 
ford lived, and we saw within some giant cactuses, 
which looked as if carved out of pale, green marble. 
A French sentinel stood near, and I asked him 
where the church was, and he pointed to a heap of 
ruins ; but we could see among them no sign of the 
magnificent structure we had read of. These ruins, 
however, were the wreck of the baths of Diocletian, 
— a portion of them having been made into a Chris- 
tian temple by Michel Angelo. They were very 
superb, and a mile in circuit, built by forty thousand 
Christian slaves. The vast hall, in the midst of the 
Thermae, is entirely preserved, and forms the largest 
part of the church. Eight of the enormous, grand 



iJO.K-lxY JOURXAL. 203 

columns of oriental granite are the identical columns 
of Diocletian's baths, and stand just as they were 
first placed. They have marble bases and Corin- 
thian capitals, and lofty arches rest upon them. 
The ceiling is still studded with the very brass rings 
from which the lamps were suspended fifteen hun- 
dred years ago, and it is vaulted in a somewhat 
gothic form, so that it looks lighter and freer than 
any other ceiling I have yet seen in Rome, giving a 
fountain-like expression to this noblest hall in the 
world ; for no hall of ancient times has come to the 
present age so grand and fine as this. Michel An- 
gelo has arranged the church in the form of a Greek 
cross. The Natatio, or swimming-bath, is higher by 
a step or two than the hall. On one side hangs the 
Martyrdom of St. Sebastian, by Domenichino. Op- 
posite is the Baptism of Christ, by Carlo Maratta. 
Domenichino's fresco was veiled ; but upon my 
pulling at the curtain, a respectable priest came 
forward and drew it aside. For over every rare and 
famous masterpiece in the churches these Romans 
hang a veil, so as to get a paul for removing it ; 
though I should like to think it were to preserve the 
painting from dust and light, which might fade the 
colors. This holy man, however, seemed neither to 
expect nor await a fee, — honor be to him ever ! We 
took chairs, and sat down before the great i^icture. 
I had never heard of it, though I saw a mosaic of it 
at St. Peter's on Ash- Wednesday, when I attended 
the cerGmonies in the Sistine Chapel. The mosaic 



204 NOTES IN ITALY. 

I did not dwell upon, for then I was taken up by the 
Transfiguration (in mosaic also), and Michel Angelo's 
Pieta, in marble. But the original fi-esco to-day im- 
pressed me deeply. It was first painted on the wall 
of St. Peter's, and by marvellous skill transferred to 
this place. Why St. Peter's should be deprived of 
so wonderful a work I cannot imagine, unless it 
was intended that all its pictures should be (as 
they are now, with one exception) of imperishable 
stone. Executioners are drawing up the form of 
St. Sebastian, with ropes, on a cross. On the right, 
a soldier is dashing by upon a horse, and shakes 
a truncheon at the saint as he goes. Before the 
cross, kneeling on the ground, is a woman, turning 
her face toward the horseman. Another woman and 
a child, both with hands extended in fear and hor- 
ror, crouch in one corner. A man with bow and 
arrows stoops on the other side, raising his head to 
speak to a soldier, who is bending down to him. 
Other officers are in the distance. Above, very near 
the head of St. Sebastian, an angel hovers, with a 
crown in his hand, in the act of dropping it upon 
the brows of the martyr. Higher still, Christ, in a 
form of freshest youth, reposes in the arms of other 
angels and cherubs, in a blue mantle. Seraphim 
are blowing trumpets on the left. The head of St. 
Sebastian is raised, with an expression of divine pa- 
tience, at the same time with a keen sense of suffer- 
ing. The pure, pale features are, however, becom- 
ing glorified, as if reflecting the heavenly vision above 



nOMAJS' JO UBNA L. 205 

him. Eternal youth and rest look chown upon liim 
from the face and figure of Christ. The countenance 
of the angel with the crown is of etherial beauty, 
illumined also with the soft light of his golden hair, 
floating backward. The w^oman, kneeling in the 
centre — her face iu profile — is beautiful, a rich 
mass of sunny tresses gathered beneath a turban, 
and her neck and shoulders exquisitely painted. 
The headlong rush of the horse, and the rapid action 
of its rider, are in fine contrast with the silent agony 
and patience of the saint, and the unearthly repose 
of Christ, beaming through the heavens. This is 
unlike any martyrdom I have seen, for Domenichino 
has succeeded in making the triumph over pain 
complete, and instead of the distressing horror, I felt 
only a peace which passes all understanding. The 
longer I looked, the more profoundly I was affected 
by the sublimity of the sacrifice, for St. Sebastian 
looks delicately organized, and full of tender sus- 
ceptibility, as if pain to him were pain indeed, and 
as if he were conscious, perfectly, of the agony he 
endured, and should endure. Yet he is willing. 
His gentle might is inflexible, and controls the quiv- 
ering sensations of anguish into resignation ; and his 
countenance is becoming celestial, as I said, as the 
heavens open upon him, with the sound of trumpets, 
the golden crown, and above all, the Lord Jesus, 
not represented bleeding and wounded, and as " a 
man of sorrows," but with serene joy beaming like a 
pearl on his forehead. His aspect says to the suf- 



206 NOTES IN ITALY. 

ferer, " Come unto me, my beloved, my brother, and 
I will give you rest." 

I was obliged to leave the picture much sooner 
than I wished, without half comprehending it ; but 
I shall go again. I should now like to know all 
about Domenichino, and whether he painted uncon- 
sciously in a religious devotion, or whether a per- 
sonal experience of sorrow and torment had revealed 
so much to him as this. I think we generally take 
a masterpiece as if directly from the hand of God, 
and do not consider the character or idiosyncrasies 
of the artist. But it seems as if the soul must be 
pure, and the instrument clean, by means of which 
the Creator delineates such a scene as is represented 
here. 

The opposite painting by Carlo Maratta was rich 
and soft in color, but I saw nothing more than that 
of it to-day. The tops of both were arched, as well 
as those of every picture in the church. The vast 
hall is surrounded with these arched pictures in 
every compartment, which gives great splendor of 
effect. Yery many of them are the originals of the 
mosaics in St. Peter's. At each end of the transepts 
are altars in chapels, and the pavement of one has 
been lately renewed or newly laid by Pio Nono, and 
is magnificent — a mosaic of the most rich and liighly 
polished marbles, shining like glass ; and the Greek 
cross is repeated over and over, alternating with 
other patterns. I did not know the earth contained 
such varieties of superb marbles as I have already 



ROMAN JOURNAL. 207 

seen in Ital}^ — first in Genoa and now in E-ome. The 
whole pavement of the church was once like this 
new part, but is now dimmed and defaced by innu- 
merable footsteps. An immense meridian line is 
inserted transversely from one corner to another. 
Above the arched niches are other arcs and lights, 
and the sections of the arcs are also filled with 
brightly colored frescoes or oil paintings. Such 
compartments as these, so filled, are truly sump- 
tuous. 

I can fancy Diocletian's Calidaria, encnisted and 
paved with marbles and bas-reliefs, and adorned 
with frescoes, while a hundred blazing lamps, sus- 
pended from those very brass rings now visible, kin- 
dled into splendor the polished stones and glowing 
colors, (the light of day never penetrated into the 
Roman thermae,) and brought out all the expressive 
lines of the statues of the gods and goddesses stand- 
ing around. The ancient Laconium, now the vesti- 
bule, is a dome upon the ground. The tombs of 
Salvator Eosa and Carlo Maratta are here, with 
two others, opposite each other in the circle, and 
between them are shrines and altars, with pictures. 
In the short passage from the vestibule to the hall 
is a noble, calm statue of St. Bruno, by Houdon. 
He is looking down in reposeful thought, with his 
hands crossed, and a face of sincere benignity. The 
drapery is very straight and simple, in perfect har- 
mony with the lines of the countenance. It is truly 
grand, with no gesture or attitude for effect — just 



208 NOTES IN ITALY. 

standing, serene and firm in faith, with a very Hving 
presence. Not a statue of a saint in St. Peter's can 
be compared to it for a moment. Bernini makes 
all his apostles and holy men stage-actors. There 
is always a whirlwind among their garments, and a 
tempest of passion (virtuous rage, I presume) tosses 
their limbs about. But the soul of St. Bruno pos- 
sesses itself, his limbs and his robes in peace. 

We did not go to-day into the cloisters behind the 
chancel. In the court of the cloisters I wish to see 
some cypresses planted by Michel Angelo, and I 
shall go another time. 

We came out and walked along the other avenue, 
around the ruins of the baths, now in part converted 
into public granaries and barracks for French sol- 
diers. Endless arches, almost all filled in with 
bricks, rise on every side ; and half-ruined vaulted 
roofs and mighty walls, thick and high, have now all 
tumbled together in confusion. 

The Baeberini Palace Gallery. 

February 20th. — Bright, cold day. We went to 
the Barberini Palace. I feel indignant with it, be- 
cause Urban VIII., who was a Barberini, built it out 
of the Coliseum — daring to pull down that lordly 
ruin for materials for his house. The entrance to 
the court is under a very old, battered stone gate, 
that looks like early Roman work, and the Pope 
may have plundered some other classical ruin for it. 



ROMAN JOURNAL. 209 

Soldiers are on guard at and around and within the 
gate, who seem to belong to the prince ; for they 
are neither Papal nor French. There may be a few 
red legs among them, however. The palace is three- 
sided. On the right is the gallery of pictures, which 
is on the ground-floor. A magnificent white marble 
staircase winds up to the upper suites of apartments, 
with beautiful columns and balusters — the finest in 
Eome. We then went into an ante-room, where 
some old and not valuable pictures were standing on 
the floor and hanging on the walls ; but we did not 
stop to look at them. A civil, intelligent custode 
received us in the first gallery, and gave us a mounted 
card-board, upon which the names of the pictures 
and their artists were written, both in Italian and 
French, with most hospitable care. There were 
also tubes for use on the marble tables. A holy 
family, by Francia, first arrested me — one of his 
saintly works. Mary's face is extremely beautiful, 
matronly, pure and intellectual, as his Madonnas so 
often are, looking older than Raphael's Madonnas, 
and as if her experience were deep and wide. It 
is a Mother, with a perfect sense of all a mother's 
responsibilities, — and a sacred mother, as if she 
knew she were the long-hoped-for " mother in Israel," 
who has the Christ for her son. The infant has a 
noble head, and it has the air and motion of the 
heads of so many of the best old masters, as if they 
heard stately music, and poised themselves in unison 
with it, with a peculiar expression of dignity and 



210 NOTES IN ITALY. 

duty and serere precision — not as tliey would, but 
as they ought — " Not as / will, but as Thou wilt." 
The genius of Francia is thoroughly devotional, as 
well as that of Fra Augelico. The only other mas- 
terly picture in this room is Christ disputing with 
the Doctors, by Albert Durer. The Christ is not at 
all divine ; but the power and wonder of the paint- 
ing is in the heads and action of the Jewish Rabbis, 
who, every one, have the truth of portraiture, and 
are all the Jews of Jews, especially one frightful 
creature, who stands close by the young Jesus, with 
his wicked eyes fastened on the child-face, and his 
fingers resting on his hands. I think this Jew was 
the father of Judas Iscariot. Eccolo ! only I cannot 
get so much wickedness, malice, and meanness into 
my sketch as are in the original, especially the eye 
is not so evil. He has an unwholesome, yellow com- 
plexion, while all the rest are as red as Adam. Two 
are reading out of the Talmud, to prove something 
against the words of Christ ; and the books are 
painted with true Dutch fidelity. They are books, 
and not pictures of books. I wish " the Light of 
the World" had a more adequate beautj^, and then 
the contrast of the frame-work of " Scribes, Phari- 
sees, Hypocrites" with him would be more suggestive 
still ; but it certainly is a chef d'ceuvre, as it is. 

In the next saloon is the Garden of Eden, after 
the Fall, by Domenichino. The Lord has come 
down, riding on angels and cherubs, to ask Adam 
why he did not answer when He called him. Adam 



ROMAN JO URNAL. )i 1 1 

points to Eve to excuse himself for having disobeyed 
His commands, with a pitiful air of unmanly coward- 
ice, and actually shrugs his shoulders at the Al- 
mighty [the first shrug], as if he said, "Thou seest 
how it is — that woman tempted me." Eve is kneel- 
ing, and turns to the Creator with a much more 
dignified and respectable gesture of concern, and 
points to the serpent for her defence ; and the ser- 
pent is wriggling away as fast as it can, perfectly 
conscious of its base purpose. All the grandeur of 
Adam has collapsed under that shrug and cringing 
look toward his Maker, though it is evident that 
his form is noble and his " front" has been " sub- 
lime." Self-respect having gone, however, and 
taken with it his self-possession, he is king no more. 
He is weak, and his sceptre is taken from him. A 
lamb in the foreground, lying hitherto in quiet 
felicity, raises its head, and looks at the scene, as if 
aware of a disturbance in the bliss of Eden, with a 
questioning, awakened action of the pretty head. 
It is the loveliest lamb I ever saw painted, except 
that one by Murillo in " The Good Shepherd," in 
the National Gallery of England. If Domenichino 
intended to prefigure " The Lamb that taketh away 
the sins of the world," its marvellously tender beauty 
is accounted for. Close by comes prowling a tiger, 
no longer in loving fellowship with lambs, but 
glaring with newly-born ferocity at the unconscious 
creature, ready to devour it in a moment. This 
group suggests " all our woe." Just above reposes 



212 NOTES IN ITALY. 

the Almighty Father in His wreath of angels. It is 
no face of God ; but the angels are of enchanting 
beauty, especially one in the centre, with a noble 
head, lustrous with golden curls. Another puts back 
his lovely hair to gaze up at the grand form he up- 
holds, with a clear, sweet look of confidence. An- 
other on the left side actually blazes with joy ; and 
a faithful little cherub, who supports a globe upon 
his shoulders beneath the Lord's left hand, has an 
expression of cheerful duty rendered, which is a 
sign and lesson to all beholders. I had no idea of 
Domenichino's power to represent beauty till yester- 
day and to-day. The disorder of emotion and dis- 
turbance of self-respect caused by sin in the group 
of Adam and Eve, the immediate suffering of Inno- 
cence for the guilty, typified by the Lamb and 
springing Tiger, and the baby-love and rapture of 
the little angels, who behold the face of the Father 
with no shame nor fear, compose a wonder of art 
and a world of Truth. 

And now we sat down before Beatrice Cenci ! at 
last, at last ! after so many years' hoping and wish- 
ing. This is a masterpiece which baffles words. No 
copy, engraved or in oils, gives the remotest idea of 
it. It is all over Eome, in every picture dealer's 
shop, of every size ; besides being engraved. In 
the copies are red ej^elids, and other merely external 
signs of sorrow. In the original the infinite desola- 
tion, the unfathomable grief, are made evident 
through features of perfect beaut}^ without one line 



ROMAN JO URNAL. 2 1 -) 

of care, or one shadow of experience, — translucent 
and pure as marble. Extremest youth, with youth's 
virgin innocence and ignorance of all crime — an ex- 
pression in the eyes as if they asked, " Oh, what is 
it — what has happened — how am I involved ?" Never 
from any human countenance looked out such ruin 
of hope, joy, and Hfe ; but there is unconsciousness 
still, as if she did not comjDrehend how or why she 
is crushed and lost. The white, smooth brow is a 
throne of infantine, angelic purity, without a visible 
cloud or a furrow of pain, yet a wild, endless despair 
hovers over it. The lovely eyes, with no red nor 
swollen lids, seem yet to have shed rivers of crystal 
tears that have left no stain — no more than a deluge 
of rain stains the adamantine arch of heaven. It is 
plain that the fountains are exhausted, and she can 
no longer obtain any solace from this outlet of grief. 
The dehcate, oval cheeks are not flushed nor Hvid, 
but marble-pale, unaffected by the toiTents that 
have bathed them, as if it were too hard an agony 
to be softened by tears. The mouth is unspeakably 
affecting. The rose-bud lips, sweet and tender, are 
parted slightly, yet with no cry, nor power to utter 
a word. Long-past words is the misery that has 
banished smiles forever from the blooming flower of 
her mouth. Night is gathering in her eyes, and the 
perfect face is turning to stone with this weight of 
voiceless agony. She is a spotless lily of Eden, 
trailed over by a serpent, and unable to understand 
the desecration, yet struck with a fatal blight. Her 



214 NOTES IN ITALY. 

gaze into the eyes of all human kind, as she passes 
to her doom, is pathetic beyond any possibility of 
describing. One must see that backward look to 
have the least idea of its power, or to know how 
Guido has been able to express, without high or 
livid color or distorted lines or heavy shadow, a sor- 
row that has destroyed hope, and baffles the com- 
prehension of its victim. If this be a portrait, and 
it surely is, then Beatrice Cenci must have been as 
free from crime as the blazing angel of Domeni- 
chino's picture opposite to it, who is basking in the 
" effluence increate." The heavy folds of the white 
turban and mantle are all in keeping with her inno- 
cence and involved and weighty woe. It is certainly 
one of the greatest works of man. One could look 
at it forever and not tire. I wonder that the Prince 
Barberini can give it up so much to the public, for 
these rooms are open to all daily from eleven to 

Close beside the Beatrice hangs Kaphael's For- 
narina — not the Fornarina I had always seen en- 
graved, which is probably that at Florence ; but 
quite a different person. She is sitting with un- 
covered neck and arms, holding up transparent 
drapery with one hand, while the other lies upon her 
lap, across a red mantle. She is the darkest bru- 
nette, with deep, rich color, black eyes and hair, and 
a turban, threaded with gold, upon her head and a 
bracelet upon her left arm. There is the most com- 
plete contrast between the two persons. The For- 



ROMAN JOURNAL. 215 

narina is very liandsome, but with the world and its 
wiles thoroughly mingled in her mortal mixture 
of very earth's mould. Life, sunned without stint, 
glows in her ruby-red and golden-brown, and light- 
ens in her laughing eyes. Fresh youth, unconscious 
innocence, lil^^-purity, have departed. She is a gem, 
but a carbuncle rather than a pearl or a diamond. 
She is utterly incapable of the desolating sorrow 
that has swept over Beatrice. The Fornarina could 
no more comprehend such grief than Beatrice can 
comprehend the crime which will destroy her life, 
and has already destroyed her peace. It is not dif- 
ficult to say which is nearest heaven, even so, under 
such circumstances of horror as surround Beatrice. 
Raphael could never idealize this Fornarina into a 
Madonna. I am not sure, though I believe he has 
the other that is in Florence. 

Next this picture is the portrait of Lucrezia Cenci, 
the stepmother. She is a stern lady, with regular 
features and no pity, beautifully painted by Scipio 
Gaetani. Her brown hair makes a coronet on her 
brow : a plain black dress, like that of an abbess, 
is folded over her bosom, and she holds a book in 
her hands. 

GuTDo's Aurora. 

Miss M. came in accidentally while w^e were at 
the Barberini Gallery, and when we left it, I pro- 
posed to go to the Rospigliosi Palazzo, to see Gui- 
de's Aurora, and Miss M. wished to go with us. So 



216 NOTES IN ITALY. 

we mounted the Quirinal to the Monte Cavallo 
together, and observed the house where Milton 
lived while in Rome. It is a corner house, at the 
angle of which is one of the Quattro Fontane, on 
the Yia Quirinalis. The glorious groups of Castor 
and Pollux were good to see against the deep-blue 
sky as we ascended the hill. Miss M. and Mr. H. 
walked round them, while I inquired for the Palazzo 
Rospigliosi. The French sentinels did not know, 
though they were keeping guard just opposite to it, 
as it proved. People passing did not know ; but 
finally a woman told me, pointing, not to a palace 
fa9ade, but to a long, high wall, at whose gate stood 
a porter in blue and silver, with a chapeau bras. 
Entering, we were in an immense court, and at the 
farthest side of it stood the palace. But the Aurora 
is in the Casino (garden house), and not in the 
palace, as the frantic gestures of the distant porter 
signified, his brandishing arm being stretched to- 
ward the left of the great court where was an arched 
way leading to a smaller enclosure. (I am not sure 
it was arched.) Upon a door, up several steps, were 
brass tablets, whose inscription announced that the 
Casino could be seen on Wednesdays and Saturdays. 
A gardener admitted us here. Opposite the door 
was a grotto, where once had been a fountain, but 
now there was no voice of waters, and a broken 
statue occupied the place. Perhaps it was a Naiad, 
but I did not take notice at the time. Stone stair- 
ways led on both hands to the garden above, and all 



ROMAN JOURNAL. 217 

along them stood marble busts and statues of an- 
tique workmanship — heads of goddesses, virtues, 
and powers — spoils from the Baths of Constantine 
(326), upon whose site the palace was built in 1G03, 
I should say rather, upon a very small part of the 
site, large as the palace is ; for those famous Roman 
Baths were miles in circuit, and that of Constantine 
covered the whole summit of the Quirinal, where 
palaces, villas, and public edifices now stand. Paul 
Y. was the barbarian pope (anti-classical, I mean), 
who removed all vestiges of them to build this pal- 
ace, retaining, however, for the adornment of the 
Casino, the sculptures we saw to-day ; and consider- 
ately placing the noblest relics, Castor and Pollux, 
with their horses, on the Piazza, before the pontifi- 
cal residence ; and statues of the Nile and Tiber in 
front of the capitol, for all men freely to see and 
study. * 

In the centre of the Casino garden is a laguna, 
in a vast stone basin, surrounded with statuettes of 
marble. Orange and lemon trees and various flowers 
grow round about, and a rare tropical tree, with del- 
icate foliage and a strange knotted trunk. In the 
facade of the Casino are inserted very beautiful bas- 
reliefs of white marble. This is a way the Romans 
have. If they pick up a rare bit anywhere, they 
fasten it upon the outsides of their walls and houses, 
without regard to symmetry of arrangement often, 
being wildly determined to save it, at all events. 
The want of order at first disturbed my mind, but 

10 



218 NOTES IN ITALY. 

when examining and enjoying each morsel, I was 
indifferent about their being tossed at the walls in 
such a random style. 

Finally we entered the central saloon, and there, 
on the ceiling, dawned the world-renowned Aurora, 
and Apollo rose up in his chariot with the wreath of 
Hours. I was amazed to see the fresco as brilliant 
as if painted to-day, perfectly unharmed by time 
and atmosphere. Four artists were copying it to- 
gether. It does not cover the whole ceiling as I sup- 
posed, but only the centre, enclosed in the simili- 
tude of a frame, richly arabesqued and carved. I 
found that even Morghem does not quite give us 
this radiant creation, not even the expression, 
though through him I recognized all. But the color 
adds infinitely to the glory of the composition. 
Apollo blazes in a sea of golden light, and the only 
part of it I do not entirely admire is his hair, which 
is too pale and short, I think. I wish there were a 
sheaf of yellow beams rolled up in lovely splendor 
on his brow, and flowing off backward, like a wake 
of sunshine. This truly Olympic form bends for- 
ward with majestic ease, as he lightly holds the reins 
of the magnificent horses, swallowing up the dark- 
ness with his presence, and filling the dawn with 
his overflowing day, as she looks to him for illumi- 
nation. Such glorious, fresh, rejoicing movement 
and outbreak were never painted before. Guido 
has made the sun to rise as no landscapist — no 
Claude even, nor Turner has done. The lovely 



ROMAN JOURNAL. 219 

Aurora, beaming from her violet mantle with re- 
flected joy — the young Morning Star holding on to 
his kindled torch with a gentle but resolute force, as 
he endeavors to outstrip the absorbing, fast-rushing 
god, perhaps with a premonition of his doom : the 
horses, mottled with a struggling light and shade, 
purple and pearl — the rainbow richness of the dra- 
pery of the Hours, each one so individual in charac- 
ter and expression — the softly-heaped clouds — the 
deep-blue sea beneath, and mountains beyond, tipped 
with morning — this is Guido's sunrise in items, but ye 
who wish to see the sumptuous pageant as a whole, 
come to Rome, and behold it. There is no other 
way, words and the pencil cannot copy it. One 
Hour steps gravely forth, fateful like the Grecian 
Destin}^, with calm, classic contour. Another, with 
fair, blonde hair and azure robe, points forward with 
ivory finger, w^hile she turns to the rest, as if prom- 
ising bliss to come, while her delicate feet airily 
tread upon the imponderable vapors. She is strong, 
and will give strength to many. Her hair is of the 
finest mist of amber. Holding the hand of this 
heaven-robed Hour is one draped in a peculiar tint 
of green — not grass-green, nor sea-green, but a 
bright, cool, tourmaline hue, visible in early morn- 
ing at a fountain in a grotto. It is symbolic of hope 
and trust, and the shape it enfolds has a wonderful 
grace. She looks out of the picture at all the world, 
soft, sweet, w^ith a fulness of content that can never 
become scant. Her feet are beautiful with glad 



320 NOTES IN ITALY. 

tidings, and dance to the music slie hears, though we 
do not, "wrapt in our muddy vesture of decay." 
* 4f * 4f * ^ There is another, looking back 
with a sad thoughtfulness, as if no future could be 
to her like the past. This is one of Guido's up- 
turned faces, in which he excelled so much. One 
Hour is younger than the rest, with quite an infan- 
tine expression, as if life were in close bud, and no 
knowledge had yet shadowed her bliss of ignorance. 
There is no record in her innocent countenance of 
experience or inquiry. 

A mirror is arranged in the saloon in such a way, 
that instead of breaking one's neck by bending back 
the head, one can sit down and look into it, and see 
the fresco, as if it were hung on the side of the 
room. The mirror is on a very slightly inclined 
table, I think. 

There are here a bronze horse, found in the baths, 
and busts of Emperors and Empresses, without 
names, upon pedestals, and the upper panels of 
the walls are painted in fresco by Tempesta, and 
the lower with landscapes by Paul Brill. Two side 
apartments are hung with oil paintings, but no pic- 
ture is pre-eminent except another Garden of Eden, 
after the Fall, by Domenichino, in which Adam (in 
return for the apple, I suppose) is giving Eve some 
fig-leaves. But I was either not in the proper 
mood to see it, or it was really quite inferior to the 
conviction of the unfortunate pair, in the Barberini 
Gallery. 



nOJIAN JO UIINAL. 22 1 

I was interested in a portrait of Poppsea Sal)ina, 
the fearfully depraved wife of Nero, over whom she 
exercised such despotic sway, and who was, I had 
thought, so supremely beautiful. She has a small 
head and features, by no means of uncommon 
beauty, and a slender figure, and reminded me of a 
portrait of Jane Shore, that I saw at the Manchester 
Exhibition of Art Treasures. She looks cruel and 
crafty, and I observe that cruel persons always are 
rather thin, with small and sharply-cut features — 
handsome, but not lovely nor inspiring confidence. 
Have I indeed seen Poppsea, the terrible creature ? 

There was a Christ, bearing His Cross, very fine, 
by Daniele de Yolterra, and a great picture, by 
Ludovico Caracci, of the Death of Samson. The 
Caracci always excite my opposition, for some 
reason, perhaps because they are academical, and 
work by rule and not by inspiration of religious de- 
votion. 

The floors w^ere paved with a mosaic of brick, and 
there were gilded chairs, some of blue damask and 
some of crimson velvet, and tables of ormulu, with 
marble tops, arranged in straight rows round the 
different saloons ; but all the furniture was faded 
and defaced. Every ceiling was frescoed — as is the 
invariable habit of ceilings in Rome — where every 
available surface is emblazoned with color, in 
flowers, saints, and angels, and, once in the ages, 
with an Aurora, by Guido. 

But it was very cold in the stone house, and we 



223 NOTES IN ITALY. 

returned to tlie warm sunny garden, and looked at 
the marbles standing about there. 

When we first arrived, we saw the Bospigliosi 
children, two of whom were playing with their at- 
tendants in the avenues. One was followed by a 
liveried servant and a maid, and the other was in 
the arms of an old nurse, and both were entirely in 
white (" devoues au hlanc''), like all the younger chil- 
dren of noble families in Italy. When we came 
out of the Casino, the infant was asleep, and I went 
to look at him as he lay on his nurse's lap. He was 
lovely — the long dark lashes of his closed eyes rest- 
ing on cheeks like rose-petals — a cherry mouth, 
shaped like Cupid's bow, soft-brown hair on a 
noble brow, and a cunning little straight nose. 
Such heads and faces the painters paint for cherubs 
and angels, hovering around Madonnas and holy 
people, of all kinds. The woman sat in the sun 
(like Queen Anne), while the baby -prince slept 
peacefully in the flower-scented air, to the tune of a 
fountain in a niche, near by. It was a stately and 
elysian scene, that I shall like to recall hereafter. 

Santa Andrea. 

The Palace of the Consulta makes one side of the 
piazza of the Monte Cavallo. This summit of the 
Quirinal is a gi'and site, commanding one of the 
finest views of Home and St. Peter's. On our way 
home, we followed two gentlemen into a small 



ROMAN JOURNAL. 223 

clinrcli on tlie Yia Quirinalis, and found it a perfect 
jewel of beauty. It was Santa Andrea. It is 
oval inside, and surrounded with columns, and 
chapels that are encrusted all over with every vari- 
ety of marble, and illustrated with oil paintings — 
three in each chapel. In the first, on the right, is a 
copy of Correggio's Nativity, in which the light 
comes from the child, irradiating the Madonna with 
white effulgence, and dazzling all who stand near. 
In the chapel of St. Stanislaus is a sarcophagus of 
lapis-lazuli, adorned with sapphires, emeralds, ame- 
thysts, and chrysolites — and before it, suspended in 
a gold setting, is a vast ruby or carbuncle, perhaps 
" The gi'eat Carbuncle" itself. Was the sarcopha- 
gus made in Ormus or in Ind, I wonder? 

The floor of the little temple is a mosaic, in the 
form of a star, the rays extending to the outer circum- 
ference. Those w^ho enter to worship stand upon a 
star ! What an appropriate pavement for a church ! 
Over the centre is a dome, surmounting the dome- 
like interior, and a garland of white cherubs encircles 
its base. In designing this building, Bernini cer- 
tainly redeemed himself, in some measure, from the 
disgrace of his ranting, stormy statues, though I 
rather think the Prince Camillo Pamfili's taste con- 
trolled him here in his fancies, since it was at the 
Prince's cost that the church was built. To-day we 
have indeed had an " embarras de richesses." 



224 NOTES IN ITALY. 

Museum of the Capitol. 

February 22cl (Washington's Birth-clay). — Our 
celebration of this fortunate day was to go to the 
Museum of the Capitol. We saw the Dying Gladi- 
ator, the Antinous, the Amazon, the Faun of Prax- 
iteles, the wonderful Centaurs, busts of all the Em- 
perors and Empresses, and other illustrious people ; 
and in the Hall of the Emperors, the antique bas- 
relief of Endymion, of which I once made a copy in 
oils. It was deeply interesting to me to see the very 
original of my picture, and to be able to compare it 
with the water-color painting from which I copied it. 
The right hand is broken in the marble, and so the 
lovely one, so heavy with sleep, in the water-color 
drawing, must have been the creation of the modern 
artist. If so, it is a wonderful work, but I cannot 
help thinking that the marble might have been in- 
jured after the drawing was made. In the same 
hall is the celebrated sitting statue of Agrippina, 
with small, delicate head and features — a perfectly 
chiselled profile, just barely escaping sharpness — 
and great ease, dignity, and grace of attitude. 
Agrippina was wife of the good Germanicus, and 
mother of the wicked Caligula, both of whom are 
near her, one beautiful, and the other the most evil 
looking of all men. The Julius Caesar I cannot be- 
lieve in, for it is too uncomely, mere driving action 
and will — not grand nor intellectual. Next him is 
Augustus, perfectly handsome, and like his youthful 



i?0.ir^l.T JOURNAL. 225 

self, with the exception of two deep lines of care on 
his once deep brow. "The yonng Augustus" is 
considered the most exquisite bust in the world. As 
yet I have seen only casts of it, not having been to 
the Yatican ; but this mouth is as ideal in faultless 
beauty as a mouth can be, but there is more expe- 
rience in this of the man, more strength too, and 
finesse than in that of the boy. It is very satisfac- 
tory to identify illustrious individuals in this way, 
tracing them from youth to manhood. I have now 
seen Octavianus face to face, and also Marcus Au- 
relius. There are a great many busts of these last, 
all resembling each other, and a most noble head 
and countenance he has. The marbles in the Capi- 
tol, and the head of the bronze equestrian statue in 
the Piazza, are of the same man. I had an impetu- 
ous desire to see Commodus, because De Quincey 
speaks of his marvellous beauty. I found him of 
fair symmetry of feature, and I do not think I should 
prophesy a monster from his expression ; yet there 
is nothing high and pure in his look, and I believe 
there is the shadow of a frown somewhere about his 
face ; but I have not half seen either of them. I 
shall go and become well acquainted with all these 
potentates, who ruled the world, but not themselves. 
The Dying Gladiator cannot be seen in one, nor in 
many visits, yet even in the little while I looked at 
it to-day, I began to feel its irresistible power, and I 
foresee that I shall think it one of the greatest of 
all sculptures, more and more. The Antinous is 

10* 



226 NOTES IN ITALY. 

consummate mortal beauty. I do not conceive that 
any human form can surpass it. It satisfies all my 
dreams of it, even already. The Amazon is superb, 
and the Lycian Apollo is music. There were some 
magnificent sarcophagi, with high reliefs — one the 
history of Achilles, one Diana and EndymioD, one 
the battle of the Amazons ; and each one the labor 
of a lifetime. The walls of these saloons are covered 
with inscriptions on marble, inserted into the stone 
— relics found all about Eome. The famous Venus 
of the Capitol is not seen on public days ; but is 
kept in a reserved cabinet, to be shown only by spe- 
cial request. We glanced through a grate into the 
hall of bronzes, where I saw the world-renow^ned 
mosaic of Pliny's doves, which has been repeated 
for centuries in cameos, mosaics, and enamels. On 
the staircase walls are deeply interesting bits of 
marble inlaid, covered with the ground-plan of the 
city in early times, and thus revealing the site and 
relation of temples, forums, and porticoes. It was 
found near the Forum Romanum, in broken pieces. 
I wish it had been all matched, so as to be a clear 
map, instead of being stuck up, as it is, in sixteen 
separate bits. It is called the Pianta Capitolina. 

The Mamertine Prison. 

After leaving the Museum, we went into the Ma- 
mertine prison. This is one of the few remaining 
structures of the Kingly Period. We went down 



ROMAN JOURNAL. 237 

into the cell where Jugurtha was starved to death, 
and where St. Peter was chained. Prisoners were 
let through openings in the ceiling. It is a terrific 
dungeon, but now very clean, and now also there 
are stairs for visitors to descend comfortably. But 
the true way to show it, and give one a due sense of 
its horror and misery, would be to be lowered into 
it, as the prisoners w^ere, through the trap-door, 
with a shuddering sense that hope was left behind, 
unless, by human aid, deliverance should come. 
There was very little room there. I really think a 
man might at least be allowed room enough, if he 
must be confined in a dungeon. That is enough, 
without a refinement of cruelty. "VVe drank of the 
miraculous fountain, which sprang up for St. Peter 
to baptize his keepers with. We saw the stone col- 
umn to which he was chained. The prison is of 
enormous strength, a true Etruscan work, of huge 
square blocks of stone. On the floor upon which 
we stood, the Catiline conspirators were strangled. 
It was astonishing to find myself in the very spot 
upon which St. Peter stood ! It was a den for State 
criminals only. In the apartment above St. Peter's 
cell, and equally dark and strong, is an altar, and 
the marble busts of St. Peter and St. Paul, enclosed 
in an iron grate, carved in the time of Constantine. 
The guide showed us the walled-up, ancient stair- 
case that led to these cells from the Capitol, by a 
secret way — the way along which the stranglers 
came. It made me faint to think how utterly im- 



228 NOTES IN ITALY. 

possible it would be to escape. It would be as easy 
to tear asunder a mountain as to break through 
these ponderous stones. I hope St. Peter was al- 
lowed a torch. O wonderful revolution ! He who 
was chained and martyred then, now rules Christen- 
dom from the throne of the most magnificent Ca- 
thedral in the world, and a hundred ever-burning 
lamps watch round his sacred grave, under the high 
altar, like so many sleepless eyes of seraphs. He 
v/ho was in black darkness has light enough now, 
and having died for his Lord Jesus, he has found 
his life, which he can never lose again. 

The Forum Komanum. 

We went to the Forum afterward, and I remained 
alone there to wander about. It is the first time I 
have had a chance to loiter round the chief seat of 
Boman grandeur. What a dream of unexampled 
beauty must it have been, when the white and violet 
marble temples, porticoes, and richly sculptured 
arches stood in all their freshness ! From the Tabula- 
rium of the Capitol what a vision of splendor must 
have then dazzled the fortunate eyes that looked forth 
over the vale between the Capitoline and the Pala- 
tine hills ! Directly beneath and before me (had I 
been that happy gazer), the pure white Temple of 
Concord, where the illustrious Senate assembled — 
the Conscript fathers we so worship in our young 
academic days — lifted its glorious beauty into the 



ROMAN JOURNAL. 229 

snnny air. I know it was glorious ; for I saw to-day 
the bases of its columns in the Museum, and the 
sculpture upon them was elaborately perfect, and 
as fine as the cuttiug of a cameo. It has now ut- 
terly gone from its site, except a portion of its pave- 
ment. Close beside the Temple of Concord was 
that of Vespasian, of which three lovely columns, 
with an entablature, alone remain, richly orna- 
mented ; and this temple was purple, as if cut out 
of an amethyst — the Temple of Concord a pearl ; 
the Temple of Vespasian an amethyst. Near these 
stood the Schola Xantha, of which eight elegant little 
pillars, of the most delicate grace, now survive. It 
w^as a portico, where the twelve consenting Gods 
{Dii cwisentes) were placed ; and along by all these 
visible dreams ran the Clivus Capitolinus, leading 
down from the Capitol on the right, and on one side 
of it was the Temple of Saturn. Eight columns, of 
the Ionic order, still are left of it. Directly in front 
of the Temple of Concord is the Arch of Septimius 
Severus ; but then its present defaced and stained 
marble was white as snow, and its reliefs perfect, and 
on its summit was a bronze chariot and prancing 
horses. How my vision grows ! On the left of this 
arch, I can see with my past-world eyes the magnifi- 
cent Foi-um of Augustus, with its group of stately 
temples and porticoes, of which I perceive, at this 
moment, a ruin of grandest style and form. It is 
the Temple of Mars TJltor. The lofty columns of 
one of the peristyles attest the perfection of this 



230 NOTES m ITALY. 

work of Augustus. But I now look down upon the 
Forum Eomanum only, and I see the marble statues 
of Curtius and of one of the Emperors, standmg in 
the midst, and, beyond them, the temple and ros- 
tra of Julius Caesar, in front of which he sits and 
receives the senators, as they go to bring him to ac- 
count for offending the Roman people. The populus 
Romanus ! what words are those to pronounce here ! 
Fancy that majestic, grave procession winding down 
from the Temple of Concord, in white robes of fine 
samite, bordered with purple, through the Clivus 
Capitolinus, to call to judgment the Dictator of the 
World ! 

By Caesar's temple passes the Sacra Via, over 
which young Virginia " danced along" and the " vul- 
ture eye" of Appius Claudius " pursued the trip of 
those small, glancing feet." On the sides of it I 
see Julia's Basilica, with its hundred and twenty 
columns (now vanished, except its pavement) ; and 
beyond rises another splendor, " like another sun 
rising at mid-noon," the temple of Minerva Chalci- 
dica, whose ruins are the models of architects — its 
three Corinthian columns the most consummate 
specimens of their order. Farther to the right an- 
other marble flower blossoms, called the Temple of 
Castor and Pollux, while at the end of the Sacra Via 
the arch of Fabius frames a distant picture, made 
up of turquoise sky and emerald Coelian hill ; and 
farther on, the arch of Titus encloses another land- 
scape of its own. Through this I perceive, coming 



ROMAN JO UBNAL. 231 

on, the triumph of Titus, after his conquest of Jeru- 
salem, and behold, glittering in the sun, the sacred 
seven-branched candlestick of massive gold, borne 
by the procession, and the silver trumpets of Judah 
and the golden table from the Temple of temples, the 
Temple of Jerusalem. And here is the Emperor in 
his car, with four proudly-stepping horses, sur- 
rounded by the bearers of the fasces, and crowned 
by Victory. On the left is another tuneful temple, 
that of Antoninus and Faustina, with its richly- 
sculptured frieze, crisp to this hour, and its peristyle, 
yet complete ; and nearer to where I stand, the 
Basilica Emilia, shorn now of its glory of columns 
and pediment. Beyond, in a loftier strain, the vast 
Temple of Peace cuts its arches against the tender 
blue ; and farther still, the most stupendous ruin of 
the world — the mighty circle of the Coliseum — 
crowns my view. But even this is not all. On my 
right is the Palatine, and I see it shining with Nero's 
golden house — the palace of the Caesars, like a 
gorgeous oriental sunset, with its colored marbles, 
its gems and precious metals. What a scene, in- 
deed ! And if the Capitol and piles of modern 
buildings did not hide it, I should see Trajan's Fo- 
nim on the left and behind, with its noble column, 
covered wath a spiral band of delicately-cut bas- 
reliefs, still perfect. 

I tried to go down upon the pavement of the Ba- 
silica of Julia, but sought in vain for steps or an 
opening ; and when it was too late, a man came to 



2C3 KOTES m ITALY. 

UDlock an iron door for me. It is new to me to find 
that all works of art liere are Greek, and not Roman. 
The Romans were the employers of all men's hands, 
but did not work with their own, and the tens of 
thousands of slaves they brought to Rome quarried 
these enormous stones and polished the adamant, 
at their behest, and carved the statues and the re- 
lievos. Then it is necessary to suffer to produce 
beauty as well as to he beautiful. Alas for the 
blood and toil and misery and crime out of which 
these glories sprang ! And they would have utterly 
perished long ago, if the Cross had not been affixed 
to every relic of Heathen Rome which remains for 
us. Four great palaces have already been built out 
of the Coliseum, and a dozen more would have been 
pulled out of it, if the Cross had not been set up in 
the arena, where unspeakable atrocities once amused 
assembled thousands. So in the amphitheatre's 
headlong fall, that potent emblem — so potent in 
spirit, so weak in substance — upholds the giant walls, 
which cannot come down, except by violence of man ; 
and instead of dying gladiators and wild beasts, 
tearing and torn, a tall, black cross rises in the 
midst, and pious folk go and kiss it, to wdn in- 
dulgence from Purgatory — for each kiss two hundred 
days. 

I tried to come home a new way, and was conse- 
quently misled, and strayed into the Piazza of the 
Holy Apostles, where the great Palazzo Colonna 
stands. Then I found myself at the fountain of 



ROMAN JOURNAL. 23? 

Trevi, and by degrees arrived at the Pincian hill ; 
and Mr. Louis Eakermann played Beethoven to us 
all the evening. 

February 23d. — This morning I went, according 
to agreement, to show Miss M. M. the temple of 
Mars Ultor. We looked with wonder at the stu- 
pendous blocks of stone of the wall of the Forum, 
against which the building stands. It is evidently 
Etruscan work. Everything here is either Etruscan 
or Grecian. Lately, these columns have been cleared 
to their bases, very far below the street that runs by 
them. Madame de Stael says modern Rome is forty 
feet above ancient Rome. This accumulation of soil 
is caused by the frequent inundations of the Tiber. 
Five times in the course of a century the city was 
overflowed even to the top of the hills, though not 
over them ; and so, holding the earth in solution, 
as it were, I suppose it settled down again more 
equally. But I know nothing about it. 

As we came along the Corso, we went into the 
Palazzo Doria, because it is one of the two days in 
the week when visitors are admitted to the gallery. 
But we had but an hour, and only exDected to see 
what treasures were in store for us at another time. 
"We found the palace exceedingly splendid. We 
walked through fifteen saloons, whose walls were 
covered with pictures, some of them very choice, 
besides that there was a great deal of beautiful 
Greek statuary. Every great name in art was rep- 



234 NOTES IX ITALY. 

resented by some work. Claude's two famous land- 
scapes, the Molino and the Temple of Apollo ; — • 
Titian's Sacrifice of Abraham ; — a superb portrait, 
by Leonardo da Vinci, of Joanna of Aragon (a love- 
lier aspect of her face than Raphael has given) ; — 
a portrait of Lucrezia Borgia, by Paul Veronese ; — 
the lovely Madonna of Guido, adoring the Infant ; — • 
and Claude's celebrated Flight into Egypt, with 
Lippi's figures. There is also a grand picture, by 
Sebastian del Piombo, of the Admiral Andrea Doria, 
grave and stately, like all Piombo' s portraits. He 
must have chosen persons of such character to 
paint. In one of the cabinets is a noble marble 
bust of the Admiral, and one of the Princess Mary 
Talbot Doria (the English lady), by Tenerani, which 
is very beautiful. The present prince is eminently 
handsome, as a bust of him testified ; with arched 
brows, quite ideal in beauty. His nose is a very 
little too pointed, which saves the face from being 
perfect. Upon a table stood a head, in white mar- 
ble, with a colored marble robe, and a veil. It is 
exquisitely lovely, but I do not know who it is, nor 
who was the sculptor. The Palace has an inner 
court, with gj-een shrubbery and flowers, and a fine 
arcade of columns enthely round it. 

The Borghese Gallery. 

February 25th. — This morning there was a cruel, 
murderous wind ; but it did not rain, and we went to 



ROMAN JO URXA L. 235 

the Palazzo Borgliese. The gallery is very superb, 
far more so than that of the Doria. I looked at 
every one of the eight hundred pictures, in twelve 
rooms, and at some of them carefully, and I was 
diligently employed three hours and a half — and yet 
I have merely introduced myself. I recall, first, 
Raphael's " Entombment." I congratulate myself 
that I have travelled to Rome from America, if only 
to see such a consummate work of genius, conceived 
and executed at twenty-four years of age. I think 
I felt the pre-eminence of Raphael first to-da}^ 
Beauty, force, grace, expression, color, all were ex- 
celling. The life, energy, and vividness of the figures 
who uphold Christ are in striking contrast with his 
dead body, the limbs so stiff and pale. His sacred 
body rests upon a linen mantle, which two young 
men support, each with both hands, and with an 
appearance of great effort, as if Death were ver}^ 
very heavy. This group is at the left. The youth 
who is at the feet of Christ has a most graceful 
form. His limbs are so light, I thought it an im- 
ponderable angel at first. The face of the other 
bearer is very handsome, and painted so marvel- 
lously, with such perfection in ever}^ way, that I can 
conceive of nothing superior to it in execution. It 
has the rich, full, soft forms and hues of life itself. 
B}^ his side stand two of the apostles, Peter and 
John, I should think. Mary Magdalen is also near ; 
and on the right is another group. Mary, the 
Mother, has fainted quite, in the arms of several 



236 NOTES IX ITALY. 

women. One of these is young, and of surpassing 
beauty. Mary's face is noble. But I feel helpless 
to express my sense of this miracle of art. I wish I 
could see it all the rest of my life. Eaphael's por- 
trait by himself, in early youth, is in the same room, 
I believe. Another great picture is the Chase of 
Diana, by Domenichino. Diana is awarding a prize 
to one of her nymphs. Lovely maidens are grouped 
all about. A wreath of three is rejoicing over the 
flight of an arrow just sped by one, while a bouquet 
of two is looking on with animated faces. Diana, in 
the centre, stands eminent, with arms uplifted over 
her head, and limbs elastic and swift for the chase. 
Two children are lying in the water in the fore- 
ground, taking i\\e> fresco and the dolce far niente; 
as if all work were over in the world. The picture 
overflows with bounding, eager, rosy, pure life, 
splendid as morning ; and the children balance the 
quiet sky, in their pause from play. 

A young artist was copying one of the groups, 
and his easel was much in my way. He had not 
succeeded in getting a single face right ; but the 
neck and bosom of the archeress who had shot the 
arrow was beautifully painted. Domenichino's 
celebrated Cumsean Sibyl is here also. I saw a 
copy of it in Mr. George Peabody's house long ago ; 
but though I knew that the original was superb, I 
must see it often to appreciate all its merits, and it 
certainly did not fasten me as long as the other 
masterpieces. Caesar Borgia's portrait, by Raphael, 



ROMAN JOURNAL. 237 

fixed me much longer. It is deeply interesting, and 
so excessively handsome, that, at the first glance, I 
said to myself, " What, is that the monster of hu- 
manity?" For his figure is stately, graceful, and 
commanding, and his head turns upon his shoulders 
in a princely way, and his features are high and 
perfectly chiselled. A light bonnet and floating 
feather give him a chivalric, gallant air. But soon 
one discovers that out of the fine sculpture of form 
and face looks a cold, dark, cruel, and vindictive 
soul. The black eyes are especially terrible. They 
do not send forth any beams, but are introspective, 
secret and evil. They reminded me of the eyes of 
the sullen vulture in the Zoological Gardens in Lon- 
don, who sits on his perch, and looks vicious and 
designing, and above all, cold and indifferent. No 
human, kindly warmth seems ever to have made 
genial the heart of Csesar Borgia. The curved lips 
are closed firmly, with an immutable fixedness of 
fell purpose. He has ceased to be aware that there 
is a conscience, and there is no longer any tender 
sensibility in him to suggest to himself that he is a 
monster. He has left the circle of human brother- 
hood, and made a compact with the Son of the 
Morning, beautiful once like himself, but fallen, 
fallen now. He really seems never to have dreamed 
of good, and therefore to be unaware that he has 
departed from it. How true was Raphael ! How 
could he bear to study and dwell upon such a coun- 
tenance, and then render it so sincerely, as to create 



238 NOTES IN ITALY. 

anotlier Caesar Borgia, to live during the world's 
forever ? It is impossible to compass the versatile 
power of Raphael, who was greatest in whatever he 
undertook. 

Close bj this is Guilio Romano's copy of Raphael's 
portrait of Julius II., of which there is an original 
in the National Gallery in London, where I became 
well acquainted with it. It is in great contrast with 
Caesar Borgia. He looks venerable, of extraordinary 
intellect and indomitable will, grand, and firm as a 
rock, with musing eyes. He seems sculptured out 
of a rock in attitude, but the rich hues of life burn 
like fire in his fine countenance — in Raphael's pic- 
ture. One is never weary of this masterpiece. I 
believe it is considered the gi'eatest portrait in the 
world. This of Guilio Romano, though very splen- 
did, has not the strength in the mouth that Raphael's 
has, and the artist who was copying it to-day failed 
still more in the same feature, so that the magnifi- 
cent Pontifex Maximus looked like an old lady of 
benignant disposition, but not like the Julius whose 
will was the law of all around him. He is so still ; 
yet so filled with latent motion, powerful enough to 
overturn worlds, that he reminds one of a lion at 
rest, but not slumbering — oh no, — watching, con- 
sidering, haughtily ready. If we had seen the living 
Julius, we could not possibly have known him so 
perfectly as by studying this " presentment." 

Two apostles or prophets or saints, by Michel 
Angelo, in his first years, impressed me deeply. It 



ROMAN JOURNAL. 239 

was profanely suggested that tliere was something 
of Bernmi in the draperies, but I did not agree. 
Grand and massive they are, but not in a whirlwind 
of passion. The attitudes and faces reminded me 
of the prophets of the Sistine Chapel, as I have seen 
them in engravings ; for though I spent Ash-Wed- 
nesday morning in that chapel, I could not see the 
frescoes, because of the ceremonies and the crowd. 
I have yet to go there and to the Vatican. To-day 
I became acquainted with an artist altogether new 
to me — Garofalo. He has made himself immortal 
by an angel I saw in one of his pictures. In his 
backward-flowing, soft vapor of golden hair is caught 
the sunshine of heaven. I have never seen such 
celestial hair in life, so it must be that of an angel. 
It is rolled away from the pure, serene brow and 
cheek in a radiant, fleecy cloud, and floats off in 
beamy curls. The face is entirely lovely and un- 
earthly. The subject of the painting is a Depo- 
sition, but I cannot recall the rest of it, so completely 
has the angel outshone everything else. There are 
many beautiful works by Garofalo, sincere, careful 
works, with the devoutness of Perugino and Francia^ 
but not with their grace always. Francia is well 
revealed in this gallery. Sacred Madonnas, mothers 
Avith tender, anxious care and noble expression, and 
divine babes and holy saints. I think he must have 
been like Fra Angelico in character, who never 
painted after the fire of inspiration went out, and 
always knelt before his easel, as if at his prayers. 



2:0 NOTES IN ITALY. 

I was deeply moved by a Crucifixion, by Vandyke, 
one of the few of this subject that I can look at. It 
is of the noblest manner. Titian's famous Sacred 
and Profane Love had no effect upon me whatever 
to-day. Correggio's Danae is a work of great fame, 
— ah me — and here are creations of Carlo Dolce, 
Sasso Ferrato (" senza errore^^), the Caracci, Peru- 
gino, Pinturicchio, Guercino, and all of them — and 
by the last a beautiful head of the Adolorata, though 
I never like his inky shadows and sharp lights. It 
must be the richest gallery in Rome, but I have as 
yet seen only two others. There are three frescoes 
by Raphael in the remotest room — one of a group 
of archers, shooting at a target, very renowned ; but 
it was too cold there to stay a moment. A great 
many people were copying — one an Englishwoman. 
How hospitable are the Roman princes ! In almost 
every saloon was a brazier of coals, to warm, at 
least, the fingers of the visitors, who may wander at 
will before these wonders. Yet I see why they must 
feel under an obligation to share the invaluable 
chefs d'ceuvre of human genius, by accident fallen to 
their lot, among the world's best riches. One must 
also have sympathy in enjoying things of beauty ; 
for even a jewel, put away in a shut casket, might 
as well remain in the depths of a mine. It must be 
worn for others to see, if it would be of any worth, 
or give true enjoyment. 

There is a Salutation by Rubens, the only one by 
him in the collection. Mary's face and expression 



ROMAN JOURNAL. 241 

are lovely, bat her figure is large and full, with 
Dutch contours, in striking contrast to the Italian 
type, portrayed in all others that fill the gallery. A 
portrait of Mary de Medici, by Vandyke, is very 
interesting as an authentic likeness. We meet face 
to face here many artists — Titian, Bassano, Porde- 
none ; and there is a portrait of Savonarola, by 
Lippi. 

The Palace of the Conservatori. 

March 1st, Spring. — Yesterday the rain fell and 
the wind blew all day, so that we could not go out 
at all, and another day was lost in Rome. But this 
morning it brightened, with frequent little showers, 
and we concluded to go to the Vatican. But the 
Vatican was shut, and so we tried for the Palazzo 
Colonna. We found an entire change in the air, a 
really spring day. It was soft and mild and south- 
windy for the first time since we arrived in the city, 
and also very muddy ; but when we finally got to 
the Palace, we could not go in, because the custode 
was ill ; and so the Palace of the Conservatori was 
our last resort. A stupid French soldier did not 
know how to tell us the way into the picture-gallery ; 
for these small red-legged men do not know any- 
thing whatever. If they are keeping guard in front 
of a palace, they cannot even tell its name. They 
never move their minds, and hardly use their eyes. 
They are only machines, that carry guns and swords. 

11 



242 NOTES IN ITALY. 

It is really sometliing like a retribution, for power 
abused and means wasted, that Imperial Rome 
should fall so low as to be watched and sentinelled 
by these mean-looking, ugly, diminutive barbarians, 
who crop up at every turn, to shock the vision that 
is harvesting marvels of art. Rome, held in check 
by pigmy Frenchmen, causes a melancholy, grim 
smile that becomes almost a grimace. The only 
words I ever heard any one of them utter were " Je 
ne sais pas," and this is the exact amount of their 
knowledge. It is sad to think there are so many 
young men living such an inane, monotonous life — 
stunted in form, but still more in faculties. 

Not finding any entrance, we walked round the 
court and loggia. There we saw a grand colossal 
statue of Julius Caesar, the only authentic one. The 
face was younger than those of the busts I have 
seen, and handsomer — not so worn and careful. We 
could not get a good view of the profile, because it 
was so high up. He wore the gorgeous dress of a 
general — an Imperator in a martial sense. On the 
other side stood a colossal Augustus, in the same 
richly-sculptured dress as that of Julius. In the 
open court a great many precious wrecks were 
placed, enormous feet and hands of a mighty statue, 
erected by Lucullus to Apollo on the Capitoline, 
forty-five feet high. These feet and hands reminded 
me of the Egyptian red-granite hand in the British 
Museum. The statue must have had an Egyptian 
grandeur in it. In Imperial times, architecture and 



ROMAN JOURNAL. 243 

sculpture took gigantic forms. This x4.pollo responded 
to the Coliseum. A head of Domitian and a head 
and hand of Commodus are of the same size. Per- 
haps I shall discover, by and by, what stupendous 
*\emple or amphitheatre these vast figures adorned. 
The celebrated group of a horse attacked by a lion, 
restored by Michel Angelo, is very powerful in ex- 
pression. Blichel Angelo has replaced parts of the 
legs and hoofs of the horse, whose agony quivers to 
the last fibres of its body. 

The Arch of Constantine, near the Coliseum, is 
adorned with spoils from the Arch of Trajan, now 
destroyed. Bas-reliefs were taken out and put into 
Constantine's Arch ; and the stately, mournful cap- 
tive kings and warriors of Dacia, whom Trajan 
brought to Rome, stand upon its pilasters, with 
folded hands. To-day I saw another relic of Tra- 
jan's lost arch. It was a relief upon the key-stone, 
representing a mourning female figure, probably 
Dacia, and very beautiful. There were also two 
gray-marble conquered kings of heroic size, which 
perchance also embellished the same arch. A de- 
faced marble square block, called a Cippus, which 
once held the urn that contained the ashes of Agrip- 
pina (as an inscription now legible upon it testifies), 
interested us extremely. Why did not the solid stone 
shiver to atoms when the poison of her dust touched 
it ? Somehow it seems as if the wickedness of 
these cultivated, highly-civilized Roman emperors 
and empresses, kings and princes, was more appal- 



244 NOTES IN ITALY. 

ling and atrocious than the sins of barbarians— 
that is — of all peoples beside. It was such a fin- 
ished, conscious, purposed, fondled depravity — so 
delicately studied out often, so utterly without com- 
punction, that it overwhelms our apprehension. 
And I was so near the fearful Agrippina as to lay 
my hand upon her cippus, once permeated by her 
evil effluence. What have they done with the urn 
of her ashes now ? I think they ought to have 
been left in their first place of deposit, and not sep- 
arated from this ancient sepulchre. It is a pity not 
to allow things to remain in their original relations, 
when it is possible — things of great historical inter- 
est, especially. It destroys the unity of effect to 
divide and scatter what belongs together.^ 

Several columns of granite and marble and a lofty 
one of porphyry, are preserved here. ^Tiile we 
were looking at these morsels, an Italian guard ap- 
peared, (how different from a French sentinel !) and 
when I asked him for the gallery he directed us to 
it with genuine politeness, for it was a good deal of 
trouble. We ascended a broad, marble staircase, 
where some statues and reliefs looked irresistible ; 
but we passed quickly on, till we came to the oil 
paintings. Both rooms contain a great many unfin- 
ished sketches by Guido, and a finished head of 

*I am mistaken in having supposed this the cippus of the 
wicked Agrippina, daughter of Germanicus. It was the cippus 
of the wife of Germanicus — who was remarkable for her viituc, 
in an age of monstrous deprayity. 



BOMAN JO URFAL. 245 

liimsolf, b}^ himself, whicli I gazed at with deep in- 
terest. It is a youthful face, earnest, gentle, and 
full, with a mouth not unlike Ba})haers, but with 
not quite such a delicate and lordly curve as his. 
In the second room is a St. Sebastian, which I think 
is Guido's. It has the upturned eyes he painted so 
often, and is of a most winning sweetness, and per- 
fectly finished. Some of his sketches, I must say 
it, looked like unbaked clay,* so whity and cold. He 
would hardly thank any one for showing them. 
There is a shadowy Lucretia and a Cleopatra, both 
dying by their own hands, besides several mere be- 
ginnings. A Magdalen is about half painted, but 
of noble expression. I should think some one had 
plundered his studio of these pictures, after his 
death, when he could not keep them back. 

There were four or five fine Guercinos — one, the 
Persian Sibyl, a grand, sad face, without the abrupt 
lights and shadows he fancied so much ; another a 
large composition of Augustus and Cleopatra, splen- 
did in color and expression. The " Serpent of old 
Nile" is imploring Augustus, apparently. She is of 
gorgeous form, and is gorgeously arrayed. It hangs 
in a very bad light, so that it was nearly impossible 
to catch the whole scene at once. His immense 
picture of St. Petronilla (copied in mosaic in St. 
Peter's) is also here ; but I am not much attracted 
to this great work of Guercino. I see that the dead 

* I wish to say dough, but it seems in'everent. 



240 KOTES m ITALY. 

body of the saint is very dead, and ver}^, yery heavy, 
as is shov.n by the efforts of those who are Hfting 
it from her grave, to show it to Flacciis, her be- 
trothed. And the contrast of life around is vivid 
and impressive. But I do not appreciate it yet^ and 
the scene above, where she is ascended and kneeling 
at the feet of Jesus, is to me neither sublime nor 
beautiful. 

There are some magnificent Paul Yeroneses, the 
Eape of Europa the most so. All the luxury and 
splendor of rich womanlj^ beauty are in the form 
and face of Europa, who is superbly arrayed in stuffs 
of silk and gold, shining with jewels, and brimmed 
with the rapture that perfect, material well-being 
gives. It is a glory of earthly felicity, without any- 
thing divine or etherial in it. The complete comeli- 
ness of the white bull — the large, soft eyes and mild 
aspect of subdued strength, with the radiant garland 
of flowers across its brow, are quite in harmony, and 
the creature seems as high-toned as Europa — nor 
more nor less. A little Cupid holds him with a 
slight wreath, quite securely, and stands with one 
tiny foot on his leg, as if the bull were a lamb. It 
is a sumptuous, glowing reality — no dream nor vi- 
sion. There are velvets, brocades, precious stones, 
and Europa is a queenly woman. The white bull is 
lying down in the foreground, and Europa sits upon 
his back, while her maidens finish her toilet. One 
is just clasping a glittering bracelet upon her shoul- 
der, and Cupid holds the slender reins till she be 



BOM AX JOURNAL. 247 

quite read}'. Her eyes and head are raised, and a 
little thrown back. On the right some people are 
going off — a figure on horseback, with a brocaded 
mantle, and others walking by his side. Over a 
thicket the head of another bull, or of a cow% is 
thrust out, the eyes flashing fury and amazement 
(ox-eyed Juno, perhaps). I do not recollect any 
more of the composition. It comes up to my idea 
of the great Venetian artist. Europa is Venice, as 
she was in the days of the Doges, when all her pal- 
aces were alight with refulgent life and state, and 
Jooked like jewels studding the rim of her water- 
courses, when the air was heavy with fragrant sighs 
and perfumes, and .delicious tones from harp and 
dulcimer overflowed from gondola and balcony, till 
the senses could bear no more enjoyment. This 
was Venice, and it is the Europa of Paul Veronese. 

On the same wall hangs his Madonna and St. 
Anna, surrounded by angels. Mary sits in the cen- 
tre, and Anna stands behind with arms outstretched 
and mantle spread in a kind of shielding love. I 
cannot describe it ; but I do not believe Paul Vero- 
nese was a devout painter, though, in my next visit, 
I shall like to see how he has managed a wholly di- 
vine subject. 

In the first saloon is one of Perugino's loveliest 
Madonnas. It is more entirely beautiful in feature 
than I have yet seen by him, besides the holy ex- 
pression he alw'ays gives. The oldest masters con- 
ceived an image of ideal maternity in their Madon- 



248 NOTES IN ITALY. 

nas — sacred, intent, thoughtful, with a shadow of 
the worship of sorrow, as they hold the holy child, 
who became " acquainted with grief." But this pe- 
culiar look of tender, anxious care is only when the 
infant is present. For in the Annunciations it is 
different, and to-day I saw an Annunciation by Ga- 
rofalo, which surpasses all I have yet seen, even 
Murillo's. A young maiden is kneeling, reading a 
book, with a lovely, innocent face just before, but 
now made glorious by the sudden presence of the 
angel. He has brought down with him the splendor 
of heaven. The airs of paradise wave back the 
torrent of golden curls from beneath the glittering 
fillet on his brow, in the rapid rush of his flight. 
He seems dressed in rainbows — and amethysts and 
rubies flash from his shining garments, fastening 
his mantle on his breast. An immortality of prime 
youth beams like a star from his countenance. He 
bends one knee as, with an air of gentle majesty, 
he offers the lilies to Mary. He radiates such vivid 
life, that he seems to have this instant bent the 
knee, and to be just rising, also, to vanish from sight, 
a prismatic ray of the aurora of Christ's coming. 
Mary does not raise her downcast lids. She has no 
need to look. She knows Gabriel is there, and she 
is made almost transparent by the brightness of his 
glory. Every feature gleams, like the sculptured 
lines of an alabaster vase, illuminated within. But 
this is an inner, caused by an outer light, or per- 
haps the angel is passing into her heart ; for she 



IIOMAN JO URNA L. 249 

looks penetrated with the celestial messenger. What 
a picture is this, and no one says anything about it! 

There is a portrait of Michel Angelo by himself, 
and of Yelasquez, also b}^ himself, very interesting. 
Now surely I see Michel Angelo, at last. 

We saw the superb bas-reliefs from Marcus 
Aurelius's arch, which once stood in the Corso ; and 
which Pope Alexander YII. was so barbarous as to 
destroy, in order to widen the street. Had not far 
greater men than he found the street wide enough 
before he was ever thought of ? 

Tomb of Cecelia Metella. 

March 3d. — - ^ * * * This morning it was very 
sunny and mild, and we concluded, for the celebra- 
tion of U — 's birth-day, that we would take a 
large barouche and drive out on the Appian Way to 
the tomb of Cecelia Metella. We started at half- 
past eleven from our old Palazzo Larazani on the 
Pincian, and took the hill of the Quirinal and the 
Corso, through the Forum Eomanum, by the Coli- 
seum, under the Arch of Constantine, and along by 
the Palatine, piled up with ruin, and the Baths of 
Caracalla, a city of tumbling walls and arches, out 
of the Gate of St. Sebastian, upon the Appian Way. 
Two miles beyond the gate is the tomb. Just with- 
in the gate we passed under the Arch of Drusus, the 
oldest of the arches now remaining. It has two 
columns and a little sculpture left, and is made of 



250 NOTES m ITALY. 

huge masses of stone that might stand forever still. 
TVe passed the door of the tomb of the Scipios, and 
the Columbaria, and at last towered up the Mauso- 
leum. It is larger than I supposed, raised on a high 
substruction, built of square blocks of travertine, 
precisely fitted, with a cornice and a draped frieze. 

When the Gaetani took it for a fortress, they 
raised a battlemented story upon the original tomb, 
which spoils its symmetry. For a wide distance all 
around the extensive ruins of the outworks of this 
fortress stand and fall. The custode was absent, 
and we could not go inside ; but we wandered 
about, and walked along the true Appian pavement, 
lately laid bare by Pio Nono, — composed of large 
flat stones, more than a foot long and wide. Whose 
chariots and horses have passed this way ? What 
legions have stepped on these very identical stones, 
with their worn traces, in which I plant my own 
foot ? I see the unconquerable eagles raised aloft — 
as th^" solid phalanx moves on to crush the world — 
I see them return in triumph, and pause before the 
Temple of Mars that once stood hereabout. Hadrian 
and the beautiful Antinous passed over it — Horace 
and all the poets — the superb Zenobia, in her fallen 
estate, yet in eastern pomp, came this way to her 
regal villas. What way in all the earth is so rich in 
memories as this? — and I actually step upon it, 
without any doubt. I thank the Pope, Pio Nono. 

The inscription in front of the Mausoleum is as 
clear and distinct as if carved to-day, yet it was cut 



EOJiIA^^ JOURNAL. 251 

nineteen liundred years ago, and I believe the tomb 
Avould have presented a perfectly finished and fresh 
appearance to our eyes this morning, if the repre- 
hensible Popes had not violently destroyed a great 
part, for the sake of robbing it of the slabs of fine 
marbles with which it was covered ; — and if the 
Savellis and Gaetanis had not desecrated it by their 
warlike uses. Time could have had no effect ou 
those perfectly-hewed stones of travertine, as one 
may see by the crispness of those w^hich have 
escaped the destiiictive hand of man. The beautiful 
frieze is uninjured nearly round the circle ; stone 
drapery, looped up by bulls' heads. The sarcoph- 
agus of white marble that was within the cham- 
ber is also taken away to adorn the court of the 
Farnese Palace, but w^e could not see even the empty 
crypt to-day. 

The view of Rome, as we turned back, was superb. 
St. Peter's made the highest point, and all the lesser 
domes gi'ouped themselves round it. The Sabine 
hills were in a silver veil. The Campagna lay be- 
tween, in dim green, with ruins scattered here and 
there over its whole extent. 

We drove straight along upon the Appian Way for 
a little while, and then turned to the right to visit 
the grove and grotto of Egeria. Near the spot is 
the Temple of Virtue and Honor, spoiled into an 
ugly church, enclosing in its brick walls four lovely 
Corinthian columns. We entered and found a 
vaulted ceUay with old urns upon a ledge at the top 



2o2 K0TE8 IN ITALY. 

of tlie straight sides, just at the base of the curves, 
and a great deal of fresco-painting, and figures in 
stucco. The custode called it the Temple of Bac- 
chus. Opposite the Temple, over a valley, and upon 
an' eminence, stood a shadowy grove, called the 
Sacred Grove, and beyond the view wandered over 
the Campagna, where the magnificent arches of the 
Claudian Aqueduct looked like ruins of mighty tem- 
ples — with miles of colonnades. And, farther still, 
the silver-veiled Sabine Hills guarded the enchanted 
land. But as it is now said that this was not, after 
all, the true site of Egeria's grotto, we did not go to 
it, and, after plucking violets and lilies, we drove 
awav, and came to the Columbaria of the families of 
Csesar and Pompey. These were very curious and in- 
teresting, and have not been excavated long. The first 
we saw had been found ten years ago, and the other 
three were discovered and dug out by the man who 
now showed them to us. There is an avenue of ex- 
traordinary cypresses on the hill near them — a truly 
funereal walk. "We descended by a narrow, steep 
flight of ancient stairs into the one devoted to the 
household of Caesar. It was square, and very deep, 
and the walls were entirely filled with semicircular 
niches, like pigeon-holes, for the cinerary urns, with 
inscriptions on brass plates fastened over them. In 
the urns were the burnt bones and ashes of the dead, 
and over each a cover of red earthen substance was 
placed. I took in my hand the illustrious ashes of 
some Csesar. Little vases of food and ewers for 



FiOMAN JOURNAL. e:.0 

libations stood above. In one niche was a marble 
bust, and beneath the bust a bas-relief, and beneath 
that still, the cinerary urn. This was the bust and 
these the ashes of Lucius Valerius Creticus, B. c. G7. 
The proprietor pointed out to me the name of the 
usher of Caesar's Court, the officer who announced 
names to the Emperor. " Nomenclator Neronis" was 
the title of the individual, but I forget his name. 
The poor man was probably brought to an untimely 
urn, by announcing some one whom his imperial 
majesty did not wdsh to see. I should think this 
columbarium were forty feet deep and twenty in 
diameter. There are thirteen or fourteen rows of 
semicircular niches all round, one above another. 
In the centre is a large upholding pier, also sur- 
rounded with niches. The narrow stairway, and 
ver}^ steep stairs with an iron railing are on one side, 
just as firm and safe at this moment as nearly two 
thousand years ago. The grounds around are prob- 
ably full of these wonderful dove-cotes. [It is sad to 
think how far from dove-like were the persons whose 
ashes filled the urns.] But how much better is this 
way of disposing of the dead than any other. What 
the fire burns away should not be left to decay. 
The purified ashes have nothing fearful nor repulsive 
in them, and the living are in this way saved fi*om 
the miasma of inanimate mortal substance. There 
was but one beautiful marble urn, standing upon a 
niche ; all the rest were hollowed in the stone, and 
the covers only were moveable. Our guide uncere- 



254 NOTES IN ITALY. 

moniously removed the lid of tlie incut urn of the 
conqueror of Crete, Lucius Valerius Creticus, and 
plunging in his hand, brought up a quantity of cal- 
cined bones and ashes, and I was stupid not to take 
at least one little bone of the illustrious dead. I 
wished very much for a fine, small marble medallion 
of Tiberius, that lay on the ledge. 

When we had sufficiently examined this, the cus- 
tode desired us to go down into that of Pompey's 
household ; but we had not time to do more than 
glance into it. It was deeper than the other, and 
I think, had no pier ; and I wish we could have seen 
it, because it has been very latel}' brought to light — ■ 
only three years ago. I saw another a little way 
off, cropping up like a singular kind of plant, bud- 
ding and bursting from the soil. I suspect no vari- 
ety of produce could bring to the farmer of this 
campagna-homestead so large an income as the Co- 
lumbaria. He looked really fat with prosperity. I 
think the avenue of solemn old cypresses was the 
ancient walk between two series of tombs, and per- 
haps the households of all the emperors were buried 
in them. This is a private notion of my own. The 
many remains of marble columns, and capitals, and 
bas-reliefs scattered all over the grounds, show that 
these deep sepulchres were covered with little tem- 
ples or porticoes. How stately, then, must have 
been the scene ! At the end of the double row of 
cypresses, is a kind of shrine, surrounded by a circle 
of these tall, dark, mourning trees, and within the 



R02rAN JOURNAL. 255 

circle is a marble cippus or pedestal. Perhaps a 
statue or a superb urn stood upon it once of some 
very distinguished person. Bordering the large 
field runs along the Claudian Aqueduct, whose lofty 
arches, when in perfect condition, must have been 
magnificent to see, though hardly more beautiful 
than their ruins now. 

We resumed the carriage, and drove to the tomb 
of the Scipios, still nearer home. A weird old man, 
with the nose of a Jew, and handsome features, all 
worn to a spectre, unlocked the door, and we fol- 
lowed him into a chamber, where he lighted five 
moccoli, and gave each of us one (except B.), 
and then he preceded us into these ancient cata- 
combs, where the noble Scipios were buried. What 
a procession ! The weird old man first, with his 
torch, and we five following with ours, and lighting 
up the winding ways and arches dug out of the 
tufa and peperine rocks. Once in a while he stop- 
ped to show us, by his moccolo, the inscription on a 
marble tablet of the name of an illustrious Scipio, 
and then we brought all our moccoli to bear upon 
this point. Little R. kept tight hold of my dress, 
and seemed not at all alarmed at the profound dark- 
ness that swallowed up our small tapers. U. en- 
joyed the adventure and the picturesqueness, and 
said it was the best time she ever had in her 
life. But all the sarcophagi have been removed. 
That of Scipio Barbatus is at the Vatican. It is a 
pity to take away from their proper places these 



258 NOTES IN ITALY. 

deeply interesting relics, tliougli it ma}^ be the best 
way to preserve them. I do not submit to it at all, 

however. J , with his usual good fortune, found, 

outside the door of the sepulchre, on the steps lead- 
ing to the road, a precious stone, a tourmaline, 
covered with the lovely iridescence which ages of 
time cause upon vitreous substances. Holding it 
up to the light, one can see the peculiar tint of that 
stone — a green different from any other. But look- 
ing upon it in the hand, no tint of green is percepti- 
ble, but only rainbow, ever-changing hues, like those 
upon the neck of a dove. The gem is oval, about 
three-quarters of an inch long. 

We then returned home, after a charming excur- 
sion, and Mr. Louis Kakermann closed the birth- 
day with performing for U. one of Beethoven's 
symphonies. 

Now I will go back to yesterday. When we went 
into the Church of the Capuchins, we found a cur- 
tain drawn before the Chapel of Guido's Archangel, 
and, peeping through, I saw a man copying the pic- 
ture. I asked him whether we could go in, and he 
directed us to a side -door, opening from the next 
chapel. The mosaic at St. Peter's is an admirable 
copy of the original, but I was glad to have before 
me the work of Guido's own hand. We had just 
seen the Beatrice Cenci, and I think that that and 
this are quite sufficient to make immortal any name. 
This is of the same order of hierarchs as Garofalo's 
Announcing Angel. There is the same immortal 



liOMAN JOURNAL. 257 

prime in liis face, youth in essence, baby-majesty of 
innocence, the freshness of the petal of a rose just 
bloomed. And with all this, there is princely state, 
and a lofty dignity. It is an unfallen form of man, 
and by this we can see what man has lost of original 
brightness. How light and powerful is his descent ! 
He is as imponderable as air and as irresistible as — 
I was about to say, as a thunderbolt, but I cannot 
say it, for he is not so terrible. What is irresisti- 
ble that is so soft and tender ? I can think of noth- 
ing but light. He is then as irresistible as light. 
The armory of heaven seems to have been ex- 
hausted to furnish forth the splendor of his array. 
His corselet is of sapphire, and identical with the 
curves and lines of the glorious form. A crimson 
mantle floats around him, like the red band in the 
rainbow let loose for his adornment, a sj^mbol of his 
flaming love ; and from his brow waves backward 
light spirals of pale gold hair. The sandals are 
bound upon his feet wdth lacings of azure and gold, 
and fastened high with large rubies that burn like 
fire. How can any one describe the aerial tread of 
those angelic feet ? The left one is planted upon 
the head of the dragon, who looks up at the se- 
raphic vision with the face (it is said) of Innocent 
Tenth, an evil-eyed old demon, and now powerless 
beneath the etherial touch. The right foot rests 
upon a rock, with as little effect of weight as the 
alighting of a bird upon a tree. It is the insubstan- 
tial yet immutable firmness of divine power. This 



258 ^^OTES m ITALY. 

combination of airiness and might, s1iot\'s miraculous 
genius in Guido. The delicate contour of the limbs, 
the pearl}^ texture of the beautiful feet, like the snow 
of an infant's feet, as if just created, with no earthly 
stain, are united with superhuman force, expressed 
in the chest and arms. One hand, the left, holds 
the chain with which the dragon is to be bound, and 
which already secures him. The right is uplifted, 
grasping a sword, in act to strike. The glitter and 
flash of the inevitable stroke dazzle as it descends. 
Outspread wings of pencil-color, just the hue of the 
shaded side of a cloud near the moon, hold poised 
this celestial Leader of the Hosts of God. The 
downcast white lids, with dark lashes, the untroubled 
brow, the curves of the closed lips, without disdain 
or pride, but tender and sweet, though resolute 
without effort, show the messenger of Our Father. 
What endless worlds of meaning are evolved from 
this master-piece. A perfect work is a unit of 
Truth, and all truth is one. The whole destiny and 
history of man in relation to the Deity can be read 
in this picture. The artist who was copying it had 
entirely missed the face and the swa}^ of the atti- 
tude, but had succeeded pretty well with the right 
foot and limb. 

Gallery of the Sciaera Palace. 

March 11th. — On Saturday, though it rained, as it 
is the only day of the week for the Sciarra Palace, 



ROMAN JOURNAL. 209 

we went tlirougli the sliowers, and fled into tlie gal- 
lery like stormy petrels, taking U. for the closing 
festival of her week. The first picture in the first 
room that arrested us was Raphael's Violin-player. 
It stands on an easel, with plate-glass over it. It is 
the face of a youth, looking over his right shoulder, 
holding the bow of the violin in his hand, with a 
flower. It is a dark, Italian face, with long hair, 
falling from beneath a small cap, and with earnest 
eyes. The upper lip is rather long, but the mouth 
is handsome, with an expression of grave sweetness, 
and the painting is most highly finished. But I 
have to confess that I was not so deeply smitten 
with this celebrated picture as I supposed I should 
be, at the first study of it. The memory of it is 
more powerful than its presence was, but when I see 
it again, I shall understand it better. Near it, also 
carefully glassed, and upon an easel, stands what is 
called '•' Vanity and Modesty," by Leonardo da Vinci, 
another famous picture, so very often repeated in 
every wa^^ As in almost every picture that Leo- 
nardo da Vinci painted, one can see Mona Lisa in 
this. *' Vanity" is another Mona Lisa, with her 
sweet smile. The whole is as rich and dark as a 
carbuncle, and of deepest glow in the face and smile 
of " Vanity." She is attractive, beautiful, and gay, 
decked with jewels and finest ripples of golden hair, 
and looks away from her monitor, and into the ej^es 
of the world around her with a soft, resolute ex- 
pression of persistent, happy complacency with her- 



2G0 Is'-QTES m ITALY. 

self and with all earthly good. It is a pure, inno- 
cent vanitj, an ideal self-conceit, not in the least of- 
fensive. " Modesty," with her veiled head and 
warning finger, is not so charming as the delinquent, 
though she is beautiful. She looks quite hopeless 
in her expostulation ; and T think one might as soon 
expect to win to seriousness the play of sunshine on 
a waterfall, as this smiling maiden. Engravings and 
oil- copies do not render this wonderful face. They 
leave out the rich meaning, and either make a sim- 
per or emptiness. Only these very lines, only these 
very lights, shadows, and colors can convey the 
artist's idea. One can get little more than the de- 
sign in any copy, as I find more and more. Copy- 
ists generally are superficial, quite. They should be 
informed with the feeling and secret of the soul that 
wrought the wonder, or they only hide the master- 
piece they pretend to repeat, and this is an injury 
and a wrong, and not a benefit. The finish of this 
painting is of the highest perfection. It is only 
true genius that has patience and love enough to 
create. Mere talent and skill are never faithful ; 
and what they effect in art can never last but a 
moment. 

In the first saloon is also a copy of the Trans- 
figuration, by Valentine, as large as the original, and 
much faded. Being hung exactly opposite the win- 
dows, with unaccountable disregard of proprieties, 
it was difficult to see it, and I did not care to try, as 
I have not been to the Vatican yet, where the original 



ROMAN JOURNAL. 261 

is. To copy the Transfiguration ! Mr. Valentine was 
enterprising, certainly ! 

In the next room is a Holy Family, by Francia, in 
which the Madonna is difierent from any other of 
his that I have seen. Instead of the matronly ex- 
pression of care and solicitude, together with great 
beauty, this is the face and form of a young peasant — 
handsome, but not ideal. It is of rich color, with 
dark eyes and hair — honest, sweet, thoughtful, but 
with no premonition of sorrow. The child is of the 
usual type. 

Two large pictures by my new painter, Garofalo, 
are here : a Caccia, and the vestal Claudia ; and also 
a Noli-rae-tangere, in which the Mary is exceedingly 
beautiful, but I do not like the Christ at all. The 
vestal Claudia has fastened the rope of a ship to her 
girdle, and is drawing it across the Tiber, out of the 
mud, where it had sunk, to prove her chastity. 
There are some admirable heads and figures in the 
group of priests and Roman citizens, who await her 
on the other side of the river. 

A very curious large picture I saw called the Old 
and New Testaments. Christ and the Virgin Mary 
sit on a throne with angels on each side, with green 
wings. Just below them are the prophets on one 
hand, and the apostles on the other. These form a 
sort of orchestra (as U. suggested). Below the 
orchestra, directly in front, stands an angel, and a 
monk kneeling to him with clasped hands. This 
angel also has green wings ; but his attitude is fine, 



262 NOTES IN ITALY, 

and he points to Christ in answer to the prayer of 
the poor okl monk. It is by Ferrari. One of all 
the angels in the orchestra is very beautiful. 

In a bad light, in the corner of the room, is a most 
lovely Madonna and child, by Carlo Maratta. 
Mary's head is in profile. The babe stands upon 
her knee, and endeavors to read in the book she 
holds open. It is very graceful, and the faces are 
exceedingly beautiful ; but it was aggravating not to 
be able to get a good view of it. I tried to push 
back the shutter and curtain, but they would not 
stay back, and the day was so dark, it was in vain 
to have more than a faint glance at it. 

In the last room were Guido's two Magdalens ; 
one, the Magdalen delle Radice, and the other much 
like it, but far more finished and beautiful — one of 
his cJief cToeuvre!^. The abundant hair is not of the 
red or yellow gold, so greatly loved by Italian 
painters, but palest flaxen, and fine and soft as the 
silk of a cocoon, and flowing everywhere about and 
over her perfect form, like streams of dim light. 
From all points of view but one her mouth seems too 
much open, as if with a cry ; but there is one point 
from which the lips look only parted slightly, as 
would be inevitable, with the eyes upturned, and 
the head raised and a little thrown back. One 
lovely arm and hand support the head, the hand 
overflowed by the pale flood of hair, and clutching 
it ; the other hand rests upon a skull, and this right 
hand and arm are surpassingly lovely. This is one 



ROMAN JOURNAL. 2G3 

of the Guiclo pictures that can be looked at forever, 
without weariness or satiety. It is forever new, and 
forever more expressive, eloquent, and pathetic. 

In strongest possible contrast to this is Titian's 
renowned " Bella Donna," the portrait of a lady. 
This picture realizes completely all I have heard of 
Titian's coloring, which no other work of his had 
yet done. The flesh-tints of this beautiful lad}' im- 
prison the sunshine of Italy, golden and fair at once. 
I can in no way conceive how such a rich, glowiug 
splendor of tint is also so pure and fair and dazzling. 
I find here the master of color, which I have sought 
in vain in all the Titians I have hitherto seen in 
Rome and England. It can neither be described nor 
copied. Titian has caught the daylight, and enclosed 
it in transparent pearl. A folded mass of auburn 
hair crowns the head, and falls behind the throat. 
As U. stood near I perceived what artists have 
meant when they called U.'s hair " Titian hair," 
for it was 'precisely like the Bella Donna's. The e3'es 
are dark and rather small, and their expression and 
that of the perfect mouth are not amiable. The 
Bella Donna is proud and imperious and peevish. 
Even her fine, straight nose is handsome, without 
sweetness. Bright, gorgeous colors mingle in her 
dress. When looking upon the face, one involun- 
tarily turns to see whence comes the sunshine that 
seems gleaming over it. I actually exclaimed, 
" Why, the sun has come out !" and behold, it was 
still a dull, rainy day, and I came to discover that 



264 NOTES IN ITALY. 

the light was not njoon it, but icitldn it. Has Titian 
painted tlie life ? I perceiye how Mr. Alston en- 
deavored to get tins miraculous coloring — but he 
never did get it. His complexions are all thick and 
muddy, compared with this. I always thought them 
not clear and living, but not till now knew at what 
they aimed and how they failed. Titian's Bella 
Donna lives and breathes throughout her material 
form. Her veins are like the Pactolus, and her 
tissues are woven of opal at its whitest, but, like 
that marvellous gem, you feel that fire is some- 
where shut in, so that they are warm and sentient. 
But I am trying to render into words w^hat Titian's 
pencil alone can manifest ; for this must be seen to 
be known. The Venetian artists have discovered 
the secret of sumptuous earthly beauty. Trans- 
mute a superb eastern jewel or a gorgeous flower into 
a woman, and you have the Bella Donna. In Guido's 
faces a spiritual and heavenly light dawns. His Mag- 
dalen here beams through the silver mist of tears, 
like a lost Pleiad, striving to ascend again to her un- 
fallen sister band, through the evening dews. -^ -^ * 
We then went to the studio of Mr. Nichols, a 
townsman of ours. He was close against the sky, 
up a hundred steps ! We saw some landscapes, and 
a copy of one of Murillo's Holy Families, now at the 
Vatican, and it was a fine picture ; but I have not 
seen the original, and do not know how well he has 
succeeded in imitating it. He has, however, a high 
reputation as a copyist of the great masters. 



EOMAN JOURNAL. 2G5 

We thought we would go into Mr. Gibson's work- 
room after our skyward visit ; and there was such 
a crowd of statues that we could scarcely move 
through them — Cupids, Venuses, Nymphs in legions. 
Out of the whole throng one Cupid shone pre- 
eminent, as fresh and lovely as if it had been the 
first and only Cupid conceived and sculptured by 
man. It is not a little, round, rolling, baby Love ; 
but a boy, in earliest youth, toying with a butterfly 
on his breast. We did not stay long in this room, 
all were so busy chopping and chiselling, but passed 
on to find Miss Hosmer, whose studio is behind Mr. 
Gibson's. Yet we got into another crowd of Mr. 
Gibson's immortals, in the next saloon. A bas-relief 
of Cupid and Psyche was enchanting, close by the 
door ; but we did not wait to examine anything, acd 
pressed on to Miss Hosmer. She was in her aditum, 
and came forward with the most animated gesture 
to greet us. Her action was as bright, sprightly, 
and vivid as that of a bird : a small figure, round 
face, and tiny features, except large eyes ; hair short, 
and curling up round a black velvet cap, planted 
directly upon the middle of her head, instead of 
jauntily on one side, as is usual with artists ; her 
hands thrust into the pockets of a close-fitting cloth 
jacket — a collar and cravat like a young man's — and 
a snowy plaited chemisette, like a shirt-bosom. I 
hked her at once, she was so frank and cheerful, in- 
dependent, honest, and sincere — wide awake, ener- 
getic, yet not ungentle. She showed us her " Puck," 

13 



266 NOTES IN ITALY. 

which she called " the son of her old age," — a mis- 
chievous mad sprite, sitting on a toad-stool, with a 
shell on his wild curls for a cap, and a crab in one 
hand ; not so weird as Sir Joshua Eej-nolds' Puck, 
but very charming and jolly. She showed me also 
her design for a fountain — Hylas, drawn into the 
stream by the water-nymphs — which I liked exceed- 
ingly, as also her sad, noble Daphne ; but not so 
much her Medusa, which missed the Greek, terrible 
beauty. Her pencil-sketches for bas-reliefs enchant- 
ed me — Night approaching — Dawn coming — and a 
Star group, all in circles. In one, Night rises, draw- 
ing up with her the stars, embodied in two lovely, 
graceful forms, who cling to the ancient mother. In 
another, the Dawn begins to mount, and the stars 
above (two sister forms) veil their heads and close 
their hds before it. The grouping is masterly. Miss 
Hosmer also intends to model a Zenobia, walking in 
the triumph of Aurelian. After seeing all she could 
show us of unfinished designs, we descended into 
one of Mr. Gibson's work-rooms again, where men 
were chipping out goddesses. There was a tinted 
marble Yenus, with a golden fillet on light golden 
hair, a golden apple in her hand, and a mantle 
edged with red and gold. It was beautiful and 
captivating ; but I inveighed against the coloring 
of the pure marble most emphatically, as profana- 
tion, when Miss Hosmer exclaimed, " Take care 
what you say — Mr. Gibson is behind you," So I 
turned to him, not frightened out of my protest. 



ROMAN JOURNAL. 267 

He is a short, elderly, Italian-looking — or rather 
Greek-looking — gentleman, with glowing, dark eyes 
under pent-house eyebrows — straight nose — every 
feature handsome. He smiled, and said, " It was 
nonsense not to like tinting of marble — that it made 
a richer effect." I persisted that I wished for pure 
form, and not painting in sculpture ; and so he gave 
me up to my folly, muttering good-naturedly, " Yes, 
yes ; it does seem horrid to color marble, I know." 
He then began a long story about a Chinese general, 
which I did not care to hear. I kept breaking in 
upon his tale with " That is a group of Cupid and 
Psyche — how lovely !" - " Yes, yes — that is Cupid 
and Psyche — so the Chinaman said ;" and then fol- 
lowed more story. My eyes were wandering round 
on Nymphs and Graces, and soon I unawares ex- 
claimed again, " Oh, what an exquisite Flora 1" 
" Yes, that is Flora — so now the rascally Chinese 
general declared the men were all respectfully 
buried !" At last the narrative was finished, with 
regal indifference to interruptions, and Miss Hosmer 
took us to her own workshop, where her cutters 
were finishing her monumental figure in marble — 
a young lady asleep on a tomb. It is a portrait, she 
says, and it is very lovely. I had time for onl}^ a 
glance at her Beatrice Cenci — for it was nearly six, 
and we had to hurry home to dinner, up the Pincian 
hill. 

On the 7th, Sunday, we heard there was to be 
high mass at Santa Maria Sopra Minerva, before the 



268 NOTES IN ITALY. 

Cardinals, on account of the festival of St. Thomas 
Aquinas. So I went with M. and Miss S. to see 
and hear. It was a fine, clear day. This is the 
only Gothic church in Rome. It is built on the site 
(and perhaps partly with the materials) of Pompey's 
Temple to Minerva, and is very near the Pantheon. 
It has now the plainest possible facade, promising 
nothing, like so many churches in Italy. Within, it 
is magnificent. A lofty nave, with cippolino marble 
columns, and arched side-aisles, with chapels. 
Michel Angelo's statue of Christ stands on the left 
of the high altar. This statue is one of Michel An- 
gelo's divine, gentle, and not terrible creations. 
Christ stands holding a very heavy cross, his face 
turned from it. It is infinitely powerful in the 
simple majesty of its action. The story is told at 
once. There is the heavy, heavy cross, and there is 
He who was crucified upon it, and bore it for us. 
The noble, serene face looks straight into the eyes 
of all men, with ineffable attractive force. The form 
is delicately moulded, and is full of sensibility, as if 
it would suffer much ; yet it expresses " O my 
Father, if this cup may not pass away from me ex- 
cept I drink it, Thy will be done." In its strong, 
firm peace it also expresses " I have overcome the 
world." Its gentleness, its gentle majesty, im- 
pressed me more than anything else, at the first 
contemplation of it ; but a very little only of a great 
work is seen at first. Meanwhile, high mass went on, 
and chanting of " De Profundis," but there were no 



EOMAX JOURNAL. 2G9 

Cardinals. After mass a sermon was preaclied, and 
we stayed awhile to hear Italian pronounced so 
sonorously that it was like a rich hymn. The 
preacher was eloquent and graceful, and discoursed 
of St. Tomaso Aquino in words that rolled like gems 
from his lips. 

March 15th. — A week ago we went to the Vatican, 
to the halls of sculpture. They commence by a 
very long narrow gallery, the first part of which is 
devoted principally to inscriptions, inserted into or 
fastened upon the walls — on the right hand, pagan, 
on the left, Christian. All along the gallery of in- 
scriptions there are sarcophagi, vases, torsos, capi- 
tals of columns, cippi, and various bas-reliefs of fine 
workmanship — cornices, and specimens of everything 
picked up and dug up about Rome. The second 
part of the gallery contains busts, and figures of 
heroes, gods, goddesses, emperors, philosophers, 
poets, children, and women. Here is the colossal 
head of Minerva, with the strange black eyes and 
black lashes, while the rest is snowy marble — the 
grand, colossal, sitting figure of Tiberius, with the 
civic crown. He seems to have been carved out for 
a god, though he became unworthy even of the 
name of man. Here also is the newly-discovered 
and only true Cicero. The Cicero that has hitherto 
been called the orator, is now supposed to be his 
brother, who was a soldier. It is only a 3'ear ago 
that this was found. It is very satisfactory— a re- 



2T0 NOTES IN ITALY. 

fined, intellectual, penetrating head, witli a mouth 
of wonderful beauty. Its authenticity is prored by 
its exact resemblance to a medal in the Yatican, in- 
scribed with his name, and which the long-accepted 
Cicero does not at all resemble. It is delightful 
really to have seen Cicero. Here, too, is the cele- 
brated young Augustus, of a delicate, poetic, musing 
beauty, with a lovely mouth and a perplexed brow\ 
The trouble on his brow seems a prophetic shadow 
of his anxiety, at the close of his life, to know 
" whether he had played his part well." 

There is also an imperial head of Julius Caesar, 
as Pontifex Maximus, with a folded drapery, and 
another fine Caesar, not veiled. These are both far 
superior to the head in the Hall of the Emperors, at 
the Capitol, though still like that. A baby Nero 
was very interesting. It is not a pretty child, but it 
is not evil in its expression. I was disappointed in 
Scipio Africanus. I expected him to be very noble. 
It is an earnest, strong head, and full of care, and in 
nero antico. Praxiteles' charming Faun is here also, 
— a happy smile embodied. There is an astonish- 
ing grace in the figure, and a cheerfulness, like a 
sunny afternoon. I became acquainted with this 
ever-enchanting creation in the Capitol. He stands 
in an attitude of easy rest, making multitudes of 
curves. Sunshine on rippling water is like the 
gleam on his face and form. The dolce far niente 
was never so exquisitely expressed. He is perfect 



MOMAX JOURNAL. 271 

honhommie, idealized with a thousand fine ameni- 
ties. It is one of those master-pieces of antiquity, 
in which " the marble flows like a wave." 

About half-way in the long gallery, the Braccio 
Nuovo leads off to the left, — a gallery with mosaic 
floor, and marble columns and arched niches, in 
which full-length statues stand — and half-columns of 
red, oriental granite, surmounted with busts. If it 
w^ere not for what they contain, the halls of the Vati- 
can would be visited for their own intrinsic splendor 
and state. But who minds the setting of diamonds? 
In the Braccio Nuovo is the Minerva Medica, ^\ hich 
alone is worthy of a pilgrimage to Rome. I had 
never heard of this statue in America, and first 
saw a cast of it, a very fine cast of it, in the Crystal 
Palace last autumn, pointed out to us by Mr. Silsbee, 
who greatly estimated it. Even then, in the dis- 
guise, and through the obstruction of plaster, it 
seemed to me the most majestic expression of pro- 
found and pensive thought I had ever imagined. 
The plaster was as much as I could comprehend at 
first, and I am glad I saw it first ; and now to see 
the marble is a privilege, for which I trust I am 
sufficiently thankful. There is a gi'and sorrow in 
the countenance and air, but it is the sorrow of an 
immortal — the pensiveness of profound insight — not 
a human emotion. The drapery is in fine folds, 
and falls round the feet in solemn flow. The ex- 
pression is entirely introspective. The features are 



27 2 NOTES IN ITALY. 

of perfect beauty, of a very high order of beauty — 
with no prettiness. She is the sister of the Apollo 
Belvedere. He is all immortal action, while Minerva 
is immortal Thought, and both heroic. 

March 17th. — Yesterday, it was so perfectly clear 
and dry and exhilarating, that I took U. to the 
Palatine, to explore the ruins of the Palace of the 
Caesars. We wandered out of our way by going up 
some steps on the right of the Arch of Titus, fi'om 
the Sacra Yia. It was very interesting to go that 
way, however. It was the Yia Santa Buona Yen- 
tura, and led to a church of that name, which con- 
tained, on one side, a multitude of shrines, like 
niches, each one containing a colored bas-relief of 
some event in the life of Christ. 

On our left, at the top of the steps, were some 
ruins of arches, said to be of a temple of Adonis, 
erected by Domitian, with gardens adjoining. We 
then passed along a narrow way, with high walls on 
each side. On a gate on our right we saw a paper 
upon which was written " Termi di Li via," and 
we knocked, but no one came. So we went on, aloug 
by the church and its shrines, till we came into a 
still narrower path with still higher walls, with now 
and then a gate, peeping through which, we could 
see ruins ; but no one would let us in. We passed 
a group of French soldiers, sitting on the grass, at 
some game, persevering resolutely, and quite beyond 
U.'s patience, who was sure we should find no 



nOMAN JOURNAL. 273 

outlet, jet walked on in her queenly gait, out of in- 
dulgence to my persistence. U. was right ; there 
was no outlet, and w^e were obliged to retrace all 
our steps. I knocked at a great double-door of a 
garden, on our return, as U. saw an old portress 
sitting on the other side, and she admitted us. It 
was a vast space within, partly cultivated with vege- 
tables. On the left side was a semicircular con- 
struction with niches — alternate square and arched 
recesses. The arched ones were for statues, doubt- 
less, and the square for frescoes or mosaics. At the 
end of the field were lofty ruins of a curved shape. 
An old man said this was the Sala di Augusto Im- 
peratore, and a Hippodrome or race-course ; and 
the high ruins were his theatre. Sunken panels of 
square and oval form were cut in the roof of the 
stone arches, and a little minute carving of the cor- 
nices is left. We climbed up, and went through an 
opening to the other side of the theatre-ruin. Below 
us stretched out a richly cultivated plain, once the 
Circus Maximus. On the right of the Hippodrome, 
now the garden, is the Villa Palatina, standing on 
the site of the Palace of Augustus. We sat down 
in the sun, on a bank of flowers, and took out our 
map of Rome, and concluded to go back, and find 
the other entrance. We therefore passed under the 
Arch of Constantine, upon which I was right glad to 
see the original marble relief of that lovely outline 
of the moon setting over the Tiber, which I long ago 
saw in Miss Burley's volume of antique gems, by 

12* 



274 NOTES IN ITALY. 

Moses. It is broken now in many parts, but tlie 
beauty and grace remain yet. We again lost our 
way ; but at last discovered a tablet over a small 
door, *' Alle Eovine del Palazzo de Cesari," and we 
joyfully entered. An English lady, with her port- 
folio and camp-stool, followed us. We found a very 
lofty flight of steps, which took us up into a vesti- 
bule, turning to the right. This was frescoed, and 
surrounded with low stone seats, and contained an- 
other staircase. We strolled about, above, among 
arches, round towers, chambers, halls, and recesses, 
gathermg purple flowers (efflorescent loyalty, in 
tiie very home and centre of kingly pomp), and bay- 
leaves, with which to crown Caesar's brow, and ivy 
and laurestinus — and admiring v/ithout end tlie 
magnificent views on every side of the lordly Pala- 
tine, the Campagna, and the Alban and Sabine hills, 
whitened with snow — and Eome within these lovely 
bounds. 

March 25th. — I was interrupted in my record more 
than a week ago, and now I am crowded with a 
multitude of events. The Prince Piombino sent us 
a ticket of admission to his villa, the Yilla Ludovisi, 
long ago, and we availed ourselves of it to-day. It 
is close by our Palazzo Larazani, leading up from 
the Piazza Barberini, by the Yia Basilio. Upon 
entering the gate, avenues and enchanting vistas 
opened on every side, but we went first to the Casino 
of Sculpture. There are two rooms in this small 



ROMAN JOURNAL. 275 

casino, sown thick with richest gems of art. Thero 
is a Venus coming from the bath, with a most lumi- 
nous smile curving her mouth into a splendor of 
beauty, without any movement of the muscles of her 
face. There is often an insipidity of perfection in 
the lines of the mouth of the Yenuses. But in this 
a sweetness and an archness combined — a full, free 
wave of light — give more piquancy to the expression 
than I have before seen. It is the foam-born god- 
dess. There is the sparkle, the motion, the trans- 
lucency of water in her form and attitude. She is en- 
tirely beautiful, and there is an Olympian nobleness 
in her air. A sitting statue of the philosopher Zeno 
is good, and there are many admirable busts of the 
Emperors. I have now become perfectly acquainted 
with Julius Caesar, Hadrian, the good Trajan, the 
pious Antonine, the beautiful, noble, and good Mar- 
cus Aurelius, the superb and wicked Commodus, 
the ugly monsters Caligula and Nero, the handsome 
and repulsive Claudian family, and Augustus, boy 
and man. I know also the earnest Demosthenes, 
the keen, intellectual Cicero, beautiful Euripides, 
our dear old Socrates, and Phocian, whom Plutarch 
made me love — Marc Antony and Lepidus. Marc 
Antony has a very strong head and face, with im- 
mense force of will in it — Lepidus is weak, with small 
features. He stands opposite the powerful Marc 
Antony, in the curved transept of the Braccio Nuovo 
in the Vatican — and Augustus is between them. 
There they are, the triumvirate, perfectly life-like. 



2:0 NOTES IN ITALY. 

How could so insignificant, puny a person as Lepi- 
duR be united with such mighty powers as Augustus 
and Antony ? 

Augustus 
Lepidus Mabc Antony 

How Httle I once thought I should ever see these 
persons ! But I am not at the Vatican now. In the 
inner room of the Casino is the far-famed Ludovisi 
Juno. The simplicity of this Juno — the absence of 
all attempt at effect, may strike one with surprise at 
its fame for the first moment, and lead one to prefer 
the other. Yet I was impressed immediately with 
the pure grandeur and majesty of this. It beams 
with a broad, steady, calm effulgence. Light tran- 
quilly forms itself into this Queen of Olympus. The 
lines and curves are all as soft and round as a baby's, 
yet grand with intellect, and serene command. It 
seems to rise as one looks at it — to rise and unfold 
and bloom — a vast Lily of the White Ray, combin- 
ing all the seven other rays — a thousand times 
Queen and Goddess. No effect is drawn from nobly 
arranged drapery ; for it is the head only. The hair 
is folded away from the clear brow, and surmounted 
with a diadem, and from this a long curling tress 
hangs behind each ear. This Juno could never be 
angry. Eternal repose has crystallized into marble, 
yet it is also a controlling energy. 

On each side the door are wonderful works. One 
is Mars at rest, the other a Hero, taking his ease. 



nOMAJS' JOURNAL. 277 

Mars is famous, but I prefer the Hero. The head 
and face of the last are more noble, I thmk, and the 
attitude of the head graceful and fascinating. He 
sits upon the ground and leans forward, supporting 
his right hand with his sword, while his left hand 
and arm are thrown upon his right knee, which is 
raised. The position is so balanced, that one sees 
he might sit there forever, and rest forever, and 
therefore it conveys an impression of comfortable 
peace. Mars clasps the left knee with both hands, 
and at his right foot a little Cupid sits laughing. He 
certainly has le hel air, and it is glorious sculpture. 

There is a group near Mars called Orestes and 
Electra, when they meet after their long separation ; 
but it is also suggested that it is Penelope taking 
leave of Telemachus, when he is going to seek his 
father. I am inclined to believe it is Penelope. 
There is a mother's love in her face — a tender, fond, 
admiring look, as if she commended his enterprise — 
a matronly dignity and sacred purity ; and the ac- 
tion is gentler than that of Electra would be, who 
suddenly should recognize her brother. There 
would be rapture in Electra. In this face and figure 
is quiet, deep love. This youth is also much shorter 
and smaller than the female form, as I think Orestes 
would not be. A gentle, home-like, tranquil dignity 
is in the noble woman, and she is fully and richly 
draped, like a matron. 

There is also a large group, which may be Psetus 
and Arria. I immediately thought of it. Arria has 



2r8 NOTES m ITALY. 

already pierced her own bosom, and is falling, held 
up by the arm of Paetus, who is thrusting the knife 
into his heart. It is very powerful. 

A bronze bust of Julius Caesar is remarkably fine. 
It is singular that it reminded me of Mr. Wm. 
Henry C. It is almost Mr. C.'s portrait. 

After two hours here, we walked about the exten- 
sive and delightful gardens, till we came to the 
Casino of the Prince and Princess, in which is Guer- 
cino's Aurora. It is rather harsh-looking after 
Guido's, but upon patient study, there is found 
great beauty and expression in it. We mounted to 
the Belvedere, and saw therefrom a magnificent 
view of Home and its environments. We then 
visited the gardens of Sallust, which are included 
within the Prince Piombino's grounds, and we saw 
a strange little grotto. I could not but wonder that 
I was in the gardens of Sallust. 

March 26th. — We went to-day to see the Pope 
pray at St. Peter's. He prays there every Friday 
during Lent. I thought it would be a good, quiet 
time to see his face, which I had not yet done. In 
due time a great many attendants arrived, with 
various-colored, long-bodied, old-fashioned coats, 
trimmed richly with pie-colored borders, and three- 
cornered hats upon their heads. They looked like 
sudden apparitions out of an old picture-book of 
ancient costumes. They arranged themselves in 
lines from the chief entrance, edging the crowd with 



ItOMAN JOURNAL. 279 

their finery. Tlien followed the Swiss Guard, a body 
of stalwart young men. Their dress is entirely pe- 
culiar — trousers full to the knee like a Turk's, with 
a tunic — in stripes of bright yellow, red, blue, and 
white. The dress is made of separate strips of cloth 
of the pure colors, so that a battalion of them looks 
very gorgeous and harlequiny. These gay tulips 
lined the way quite to the chapel. The space before 
the Chapel of the Holy Sacrament, to which the 
Pope would come first, was left wholly free for his 
Holiness. Near the gate was placed a prie-dieUy 
covered with crimson velvet and gold, as was the 
floor beneath — and crimson velvet cushions were ar- 
ranged for him to kneel upon and to rest his arms. 
We patiently waited a long time, and at last a stir 
announced the entrance of the Pontifex Maximus. 
He was preceded and followed by Cardinals, dressed 
to-day in violet robes, significant of mourning, just as 
all the pictures are veiled during Lent in violet. The 
Pope was arrayed in white silk, with red shoes and 
a red mantle. 1 do not know why he also was not 
in violet, unless he is to be presumed beyond peni- 
tence and mourning. He was, however, without 
tiara, and only a white silk skull-cap, and his aspect, 
and that of all his suite, was grave and sad. I saw 
him very well as he passed me. His face is benign 
and comely, and every few seconds he blessed the 
crowd by a motion of his right hand, and a slight 
bend of the head, at once majestic and gracious. If 
one could only believe him a perfect saint and virtu- 



280 NOTES ZzY ITALY. 

ally the Head of the Church, this would have been 
very impressive. He made a deep obeisance to the 
Chapel of the Holy Sacrament, where he believed 
God was present in the wafer, and then he knelt on 
the crimson-velvet cushion, and the Cardinals knelt 
behind and on each side of him ; and profound 
silence fell over all while they prayed. Every 
Catholic was on his knees, with moving lips". As 
soon as the Pope rose, there was a rush for the next 
prie-dieUj prepared in front of St. Peter's shrine. 
We stood close by the ever-burning lamps, and the 
same ceremony was repeated, watched and guarded 
by a military band. I at first thought these mailed 
and halberded soldiers symbolized the Church Mili- 
tant. But they are merely the attendants of the 
temporal prince, as the Pope claims to be King and 
Imperador, as well as Pontifex. 

March 31st. — Mrs. "W. sent this morning to invite 
me to drive with her in the afternoon, and she came 
for me at two o'clock. We returned to her house in 
the Piazza di Spagna, and took in Mr. W. and H., 
and drove to the Villa Borghese. This is a very 
large and enchanting domain, and the prince lib- 
erally permits the public to frequent it at will every 
day after twelve o'clock. It has groves, deeply 
shaded avenues, lovely meadows, fountains, wide 
prospects, wild-flowers, stone-pines, casinos of sculp- 
ture and painting, and profound quiet. We alighted 
from the barouche ; and H., looking like a crocus in 



BOMAN JOURNAL. 281 

lier striped purple and white silk dress and ribbons, 
strayed off into one of the sunny meadows, and 
gathered a bouquet of pale-blue violets. I thought 
of Proserpine in the Yale of Enno — but checked 
myself when I remembered the result of that. On 
the border of one of the avenues was a row of stone- 
pines ; and it was pleasant to see the enthusiasm of 
Mr. W. for them. It was so gi'eat that it served for 
us all. Their lofty curves, marked on the upper 
azure, certainly have a peculiar charm. In a land- 
scape by Turner, in the Marlborough House, I saw 
one so perfectly painted, that these living ones 
seemed quite familiar to me. All about the grounds 
were marble busts and statues, which, even in this 
clear climate, have lost their brilliancy. It is melan- 
choly to know that it is not possible for the owners 
of these superb villas to reside in them in summer, 
on account of the malaria ; so they are wasted when 
in theL -^mplete beauty. What a strange and mys- 
terious retribution upon the Empress of the World 
is the malaria ! It is said to be increasing and en- 
croaching, so that Kome will finally be left desolate, 
a sign and a portent to the nations. 

In reading the history of Eome, I feel as if the 
Campagna were all steeped in human blood, and 
filled with human bones and dust, as indeed it must 
be. I have heard that one cannot sit down on the 
grass in the Campagna, anywhere over its whole 
extent, without finding, just beneath the flowers and 
turf, these human bones, excepting where there are 



282 NOTES IN ITALY. 

ruins of dwellings. It has been thick with life, and 
now it is thick with death, and Death is chasing all 
that remains of Life from these regions. 

After exploring the Borghese grounds, we drove 
to the Forum and Coliseum, and to the Pyramid of 
Caius Cestius, in the line of the city walls. It is in 
perfect preservation, covered with plates of white 
marble, and its apex as sharp as if just pointed, 
though it has pierced the air for at least two thou- 
sand years. Mr. W. and I left the carriage to see 
the tomb of Keats ; for the Protestant burial-ground 
is at the foot of the Pyramid. There is a white 
marble headstone, with " Here lies a young English 
Poet" upon it, and no name. The hillock over the 
body is still rounded, and covered with flowers, 
which seem to be carefully tended. Shelley's grave 
is close by, but we could get no admittance to it ; 
and we could not go into the Pyramid to-day, be- 
cause the custode was not there. It has a small 
chamber in the centre, with arabesques that still 
retain their bright colors. 

We then went into an old church, in which was an 
enormous Mask, called La Bocca della Verita. On 
each side of the nave were ancient columns of various 
orders, rifled from pagan temples. The floor was 
of mosaic. Two marble pulpits, on each side the 
choir, were of the remotest Christian times. They 
are called ambones, I believe. The mosaic is AleX' 
andrian work. The name of the church is Santa 
Maria in Cosmedia, and it stands where once stood 



BOMAN JOURNAL. 2S3 

a temple of Ceres and Prosei*pine, from wliicli the 
columns, and perhaps the pavement, were taken. 
The lovely temple of Vesta is close by, and also that 
of Fortuna Yirilis, which is exceedingly small, but 
perfectly beautiful in its proportions ; and opposite 
to it is the house of Rienzi, the last of the Tribunes. 
Pilate is said to have lived in it. 

We then drove over the Pons Cestius (St. Bar- 
tholomew's Bridge) to the Island of the Tiber, now 
entirely covered with houses. In Roman history 
I have read a story of a ship having been sent to 
Greece for a statue of Esculapius, as a charm 
against the pestilence, and that when it arrived in 
the Tiber, a living snake, whose form Esculapius 
assumed, glided out of the ship into the island and 
hid itself among the thickets, and a temple was 
erected to Esculapius on the spot. Substructions 
of this very temple now remain ; but they are built 
upon by modern houses. The island was faced with 
rock, and made in the shape of a ship, and an 
Egyptian obelisk was put up in the centre, to repre- 
sent a mast. A hospital now stands on the site of 
the temple of Esculapius. 

We afterward drove to Santa Maria in Trastevere, 
a large, old church, with a stately nave, bordered 
by ancient granite columns. One of the chapels 
was prepared for Domenichino to paint in fresco ; 
and in one corner of an arch he commenced with a 
little cherub, and then he fell ill and died. No other 
hand has carried on the work. The little cherub 



284 NOTES IjV ITALY. 

remains alone, as we saw, surrounded with the 
empty panels. There was something inexpressibly 
affecting in these void spaces, watched over by the 
cherub. 

Finally we drove to St. Peter's, where we in- 
tended to hear Yespers. There was a dense crowd 
round the gate of the choral chapel ; but we patient- 
ly waited two hours, and then crushed in and ob- 
tained seats in front. The music was divine to-day. 
It was a Miserere, and gave us a foretaste of the 
Miserere we shall hear in the Sistine Chapel by and 
by. They had the triangle of lights, and extinguished 
them one by one, after each chant, and then a priest 
took down the candle from the apex, and hid it be- 
hind the altar. Yiolet curtains were drawn over the 
windows. All the Canons of St. Peter's, and all the 
acolytes, and one Cardinal, in violet robes, knelt 
down, and a wonderful voice rose upon the silence 
and rich gloom, like a pure crystal jet of translucent 
water, and then curved and fell to rise again. " Mise- 
ra, Misera !" It fell into a sea of sad voices com- 
posed of the whole choir, and then rose out of them 
again and again, far into the lofty dome, as if seeking 
heaven with its cry for pity. The responses of the 
Canons were so dissonant and loud that I was 
shocked and shaken by each uproar ; but I had 
never conceived any sound so eloquent, sweet, and 
pathetic as the single miraculous voice. I could not 
dream of anything superior to it then. 

It was dark at the close of the music, and the 



ROMAN JOURNAL. 285 

balcony over the statue of St. Veronica was lighted 
up, because there was to be an exhibition of relics — 
a portion of the true cross, and the handkerchief 
St. Veronica gave our Saviour to wipe his brow, when 
he passed, bearing his cross, on the Avay to Calvary. 
All we could see at such a distance was a very superb 
and glittering frame to each of these relics, which 
seemed to be all gold and precious stones. The fad- 
ing twilight in the vast basilica was very impressive 
and grand. The multitude knelt when the priest held 
up the glittering treasures ; and the prostrate throng, 
the illuminated balcony, the lofty arches receding in 
the darkness, the apparently endless nave, made a 
marvellous picture, such as can nowhere else be 
seen. Aforetime, a cross, seven feet long, of bur- 
nished metal, studded with the most brilliant lights, 
was let down from the dome, the most glorious 
imaginable sight, and powerful enough to kindle up 
those wastes of space. But it was necessary to dis- 
continue the custom, because the Americans and 
English behaved so indecorously during the cere- 
mony — walking about, laughing and talking aloud, 
much to the horror of the devout worshippers, and 
certainly very much to the discredit of the manners 
and decency of both Protestant nations. I have no 
patience with them, because I should have seen it 
to-night, if they had shown proper respect to the 
faith of the Bomans. As we left the Piazza, wq 
looked back, and saw one solitary star risen directly 
over the church, one star in the purest sky. Of 



286 NOTES IN ITALY. 

course we could think only of the star that stood 
over the place where the young Child lay. 

On the 17th March (I must not omit to record) I 
went with the children and Miss Shepard to the 
Baths of Caracalla. We drove to the entrance, and 
were admitted through a small window, rather than 
a door, on the side of a great gate. An old man is 
custode, and takes fees. He at first insisted upon 
leading us to a bed of dehcious violets in one of the 
mighty halls, saying " they were the violets of Cara- 
calla!" Violets never were "of Caracalla," I am 
very sure. One glance from his wicked eyes would 
kill violets, for I know his evil scowl perfectly. We 
found the various halls stupendous in size and 
height, and the principal one really incredibly so. 
I did not suppose that such an apartment was ever 
roofed in. If the Emperor should sit at one end 
npon a raised dais, he might think he w^ere ruling 
over a kingdom within the four w^alls. A part of the 
mosaic pavement has been uncovered within a short 
time, and it must have been superb when in its full 
polish and perfection. All round the hall it is of 
the fish-scale pattern, very appropriate for baths. 
In the centre there is another pattern, and the ceil- 
ing was once an immense mosaic, but it has now 
fallen, and lies in heaps npon the floor in huge 
boulders — on account of the granite columns having 
been unpardonably removed. The pavement is of 
purple, green, white, and yellow marbles, and the 
ceiling of black and white. The border close to the 



ROMAN JOURNAL. 287 

walls is mixed of all the colors, producing the richest 
effect, and the outside rim of pure white. 

In the centre each oval is alternately of yellow, 
white, and green ; the corners of the white are pur- 
ple — of the green, yellow, and of the yellow, green. 

All this was not in the style of the Florentine 
mosaics, in which one color is one piece of pietra 
dura, but each of these divisions is made up of 
small bits, and it is all composed of marbles. The 
purple is porphyry, the green is serpentine, and the 
yellow is giallo antico. The walls of this apartment 
were faced with marbles also, and columns of 
alabaster and marble stood around, while marble 
statues peopled the arcades and colonnades with 
ideal beauty — gods and heroes ! And there they 
would all have been now, and there would have been 
the walls and ceiling, if man had not wantonly de- 
stroyed them. I found one small room with a roof. 
It is concave, paved with mosaics, and some of the 
marble plates are still on the walls. This was prob- 
ably the natatio, the swimming-bath — a private little 
one — and delicious it must have been. Indeed, the 
whole vast hall seems slightly concave. What if it 
were once a mighty swimming-bath at times, when- 
ever the Emperor chose to let loose his aqueduct 
upon it ! 

In a sort of tower there is a staircase which leads 
to the top, and we went up, and walked about on the 
passages made by the thickness of the walls. They 
also are laid in mosaic. It was designed never to 



288 NOTES IN ITALY. 

decay, certainly. The views from this summit are 
beautiful, of the same unwearying objects in diifer- 
ent relations — the Alban and Sabine Mountains, the 
melancholy wastes of Campagna and Home, with its 
domes and palaces — forever new, forever old — 
fascinating beyond all other combinations of hill 
and plain and city. I fell into infinite depths of 
musing, as one must always do in the midst of 
Boman ruins. It is certainly all right that Cara- 
calla's baths should tumble and thunder down, and 
startle Rome with fear and horror ; for they were 
built up through the toil and agony of thousands of 
captives, heathen and Christian, and revolting crimes 
were daily committed to make them so sumptuous 
for the tyrants who were to enjoy them. Thousands 
to suffer and die that one might roam in state, 
through miles of splendor, in cool comfort, and feast 
his eyes on beauty! Under such a curse, these 
stupendous structures could not stand. The very 
stones must have longed to revenge the wrong, and 
resist being placed in harmonious forms. 

Since the ruling powers had no mercy, inanimate 
nature must have sympathized with the oppressed 
human creature, and I can almost fancy that there 
was an inward exultation in the heart of the mighty 
blocks when they hurled themselves crashingly from 
their settings, where weary, suffering hands had 
fixed them. If man turns his heart to stone, then 
stones must contrive to have hearts to balance the 
scales of divine justice. Flowers grew on tlio^je 



IIOMAN JOURNAL. 289 

heights, springing out of the crumbling mosaic, as 
tender and fresh and sweet as if there never had 
been sin nor sorrow on the earth, or on the spot 
where they grew. They seemed to me hke the gra- 
cious smile of the patient. Eternal Father, whose in- 
finite pity preserves the world in its orbit, notwith- 
standing its errors and relapses. They suggested 
the loving mercy with which He waits for His prodi- 
gal sons, ready to take them into His arms when 
they arise and go to Him. 

J and I straj^ed all about, while the others 

sat still ; for they did not care to search for treas- 
ures. We found some marbles and bits of mosaic 
for memorials, and discovered wonderful subterra- 
nean recesses and rooms. Perhaps some of them 
were for heating water, but we did not know what 
they were for. We saw some broken columns and 
finely- wrought capitals, and at last we opened into 
a covered apartment, where a great many sculptures 
were placed, that had been collected about the ruiiis 
— pieces of figures, heads, vases, and morsels of 
architectural carvings. I asked the old custode 
whether these relics were his ; and he replied, " No — 
sono di Pio Nono." 

The atmosphere was transcendent that day, and 

on the way home, J and I delayed at the Arch 

of Constantine to sketch a bas-relief of the moon 
rising over the Tiber, in the same style as that of 
the moon setting — of which I made mention before, 
and which is on the other end of the arch. 

13 



290 NOTES IN ITALY. 

On the 18tli of March we went to the Temple of 
Vesta the first thing. The original roof of this is 
lost, and replaced by one as ugly as possible ; but 
otherwise it is as perfectly beautiful in form as ever, 
though discolored by the storms of centuries. It is 
of Parian marble, once pure white — a small circular 
cella, surrounded by a colonnade of Corinthian fluted 
pillars. One column only has fallen. A woman 
admitted us. It consists within of one simple 
apartment about twenty feet in diameter, lined with 
white marble. I never saw anything built by human 
hands so simple and so lovely. Oh the divine sobriety 
of Grecian art ! What a pattern for manners ! It 
seems like a flower. I wonder why some one of the 
Popes has not put on a proper roof, instead of allow- 
ing these rude tiles to remain, like a rough cover to 
a daintily finished casket. It deserves either fit 
restoration, or the right of being an untouched ruin. 
It stands close upon the banks of the Tiber, which 
must have overflowed it many times, and I doubt 
not it is the very temple spoken of by Horace, built 
by Numa, ages ago. When it first rose there in its 
spotless purity, it must have been a fair type of a 
vestal virgin. Within full view of this pearl of 
beauty is the temple of Fortuna ViriUs, a ver}^ small 
parallelogram, surrounded with fluted Ionic columns, 
with a portico in front. It is made of Travertine 
and is a perfect specimen of the Ionic order. The 
Greek forms have for me a mighty charm still, 
though I thought I never could be so much carried 



ROMAN JOURNAL. 291 

away by them, after being steeped in the glorious 
Gothic so thoroughly. But the understanding, as 
well as the imagination, must have its sign. 

Near to this Fortuna Yirilis is a fabric we had 
not yet seen — with four sides — Janus Quadrifrons. 
It is a most solid and potent building, which must 
stand during the forever of this world, I am sure, as 
unmoved and immovable as it already has stood 
since Septimius Severus. The blocks of marble are 
enormous. It is no doubt Elruscan. The Etruscans, 
and the race they were of, easily moved mountains 
about, it is plain to see. In the centre is a vaulted 
roof. The earth has accumulated around it to such 
a height, that it is now in a hollow, and it has evi- 
dently been dug out ; for the inundations of the 
Tiber set so much soil afloat, that new levels were 
constantly formed. These four arched fronts must 
have faced four streets. We were in the Yelabrum 
— the Forum Boarium. There are many Forums, 
though I once supposed there was but one, the ever 
most illustrious Bom an Forum. 

Near Janus Quadrifrons, is another small arch, 
very much ornamented with sculptures. An inscrip- 
tion testifies that it was erected to Septimius Severus 
and his wife and children. 

We then retraced our steps to the Ponte Botto, 
which is a re-erection of the Pons Emilius, from 
which Heliogabalus was thrown into the Tiber. 
The great Scipio Africanus and the stupid Mummius 
finished it from a beginning by Lepidus ar d some 



292 NOTES IN ITALY, 

consul. Standing upon this, we looked along the 
river, and saw the ruins of the illustrious bridge 
Sublicius, upon which Horatius Codes did such good 
battle against Porsenna, and then destroyed it — or 
rather, the Romans destroyed it at his command. 

We passed over the Ponte Rotto into the Traste- 
vere, and walked a long way to St. Peter's. We had 
heard that the Romans of this region were finer and 
nobler looking than any others, and claimed to be 
descended from the pure, ancient race. We did not 
observe much difference to the others in those whom 
we met in the streets. Very many of the people 
have a kingly air and step, all over Rome. We en- 
tered St. Peter's, where I alone remained to see the 
five newly-appointed Cardinals pray at the two holy 
shrines — that of the Sacrament and of St. Peter. 
While I waited, people began to collect to see the 
ceremony, and purple-robed priests, with lace tunics, 
came out of the choral chapel, and knelt down near 
me to pray. I had my tiny sketch-book, and caught 
one of them exactly. In the midst of his prayer, 
when, in my own sincerity, I supposed him wrapt in 
devotion, away from all sublunary needs, he shocked 
me by taking out his snuff-box, and making himself 
jolly Avith a pinch. It seemed as if something must 
happen at such a disturbance of the divine economy 
and order ; but the grand space and silence swallowed 
up this portentous irreverence, as if it were a very 
little thing. And, in truth, the priest only injured 
himself, and could not disturb the true worship and 



MOMA^^ JOURNAL. 293 

sublimity- of devotion of those who really prayed. 
And so my own private tourhiUon at this incident 
subsided in presence of the majestic calm pervading 
the temple. Processions of nuns passed in remote 
distances of the nave — processions of young acolytes 
also, in various costumes — all kinds of monks and 
churchmen, each body in a different habit, as well 
as multitudes of ecclesiastical schools, in peculiar 
dresses. Each group was occupied with its own 
separate duty, and there was abundance of room for 
thousands of groups more. 

At last the grand entrance was flung open, and 
the five new Cardinals,, in very new scarlet silk skull- 
caps and violet robes, came in, attended by footmen 
and prelates, and knelt at a prie-dieu, side by side. 
One of them was quite young — an unusual thing. 

I observed all at once that I was rather ofiiciously 
attended by a stranger Italian, who seemed to feel 
bound to suggest to me a good place to stand ; and 
as I could not possibly get rid of him, I became rather 
alarmed, and left the church at once, and took a 
carriage home, resolving not to be quite alone again. 
I think he must have been a spy. 

March 20th is memorable for a charming walk 
which I took with little K. to the Temple of Peace, 
the Coliseum, the Coelian Hill, and the Forum. It 
was a glorious blue and gold afternoon, and we 
sauntered along very slowly. I meant to play in the 
Temple of Peace with E., to fulfil a prophecy of my 



294 NOTES m ITALY. 

very dear friend S. A. C, who said to me years ago, 
when I could not dream of such an event, " that my 
children would one day play in the Temple of Peace." 
But now it was so full of boys, and also so defiled, 
that E. was disgusted. She enjoj^ed, however, the 
magnificent arches — the richly-sculptured capitals, 
bases, and architraves lying about upon the ground ; 
and then we went on to the Coliseum, where the de- 
vout were kissing the black cross in the centre ; and 
then to the Coelian, where I sat upon a marble seat, 
in view of the Palatine, while R. gathered daisies on 
the lawns, and I mused about Etruria, because 
Etruscans settled on this hill in the far-off times, 
and, as I believe, were the most civilized race of 
Italy before Bome was built. 




n. 

JOUKNEY OF EIGHT DAYS FKOM EOME 
TO ELOEENCE. 

CiviTi. Castellana, May 24th, 1858. 
We left Rome this morning at eight o'clock. The 
weather was then fine, thongh, earlier, there was a 
fog. We had a nice old vetturino, Gaetano by name, 
who looked like a good New England farmer, with a 
face placid and gentle, and not at all Italian in color 
or expression. Our carriage was of the usual long 
and cumbersome fashion, with seats inside for four, 
and a coupe in front for two^n the form of a chaise — 
and in front of the coupe, a box for the vetturino. 
Our luggage was bestowed upon the top, and behind, 
reaching out many a rood, so that with four, and 
sometimes six horses, we have the effect of an endless 
arrangement of human affairs. We drove out of the 
Porta del Popolo, the old Elaminian gate, leading 
upon the Elaminian Way, and we were detained five 
minutes for the examination of our passports. I felt 
an extraordinary and unexpected regret at leaving 
Rome, and if it had been a final departure, I should 



298 NOTES IX ITALY. 

have been almost inconsolable, — so potent and pro- 
found is the hold this '*citj of the soul" has upon 
the mind. A great crowd appeared afar off on the 
road, and it proved to be regiments of infantry, artil- 
lery, and cavalry, all marked No. I. We could 
fancy them either the Eoman legions, returning from 
a memorable victory (for the music-bands were in 
full play), or a saucy army coming to attack the 
"Mother of Empires," before they were "dead." It 
was a grand spectacle, but they stirred up a suffoca- 
ting cloud of dust, which was all that remained with 
us for the pageant. 

Pretty soon we began to see the identical pavement 
of the old Flaminian Way, by the side of the compar- 
atively modern road. It is not very broad, but very 
perfect, composed of large flag-stones, as much as a 
foot and a half wide, and more than a foot thick, as 
smooth as a marble church-floor, and carefully joined. 
It is a wonder of skill and faithful finish, and a stu- 
pendous work, considering its length from Home to 
Soracte ! Rome could never have done such vast 
things if she had not broken up kingdoms to do them, 
and brought captive to her throne hundreds of thou- 
sands of peoples, gentle as well as simple, to accom- 
plish her will. I am surprised that the Popes do 
not lay open this masterpiece of human hands and 
heads, through its whole extent, though I fear some 
of its admirably fitted blocks have already been 
removed to build other structures, which is a foolish 
and stupid act, if it be so. Yet such ruin of the 



ROME TO FLORENCE. 2i)7 

most precious memorials to the classic scliolar is 
constantly brought about by Popes and modern 
Princes. How impious in this way are the Piuses, 
how merciless the Clements, how unblest the Bene- 
dicts ! I looked upon this road with absorbing in- 
terest. There is something that contents, or rather 
that is satisfactory to man's right royal demand for 
incredible deeds, in these Boman relics. It is not 
the triumph of our pride, so much as the proof of 
our possibilities, that gratifies one. The Romans had 
the will and the might — virtue — as they understood 
it — according to their acceptation of the word. If 
there were will and might — virtue according to Christ, 
what could not be done ? 

Ten or more miles from Rome we still saw the 
dome of St. Peter's on the horizon, and there were 
miles and miles of the fair and fatal Campagna, ex- 
tending every way, plain and rolling, deliciously 
green — a green, and not " a whited sepulchre." We 
passed a great many crumbling tombs, and mediaeval 
towers ; but Gaetano, our vetturino, did not know 
their histories. 

By and by, Soracte began to appear — Byron's 
*' long swept wave," that " pauses in its curl." As 
we came nearer, we found it to be a vast rock, and 
Byron, as usual, to be correct in his description of it. 
It does indeed look like a suddenly petrified, enor- 
mous heap of waves, about to foam and fall hun- 
dreds of feet. It " hangs pausing." It is " the 
lone Soracte's height," and is one of the nota- 

13* 



208 NOTES IN ITALY. 

ble and beautiful objects on the horizon in Rome, 
and here we were almost at its base. It is called 
Sant'Oreste now, and on its ragged summit is a con- 
vent in the name of St. Sihestro, which pilgrims 
chmb up to visit. The view from it must be glo- 
rious. The Temple of Apollo, sung of by Yirgil, 
was on this site, two thousand feet, at least, above 
the sea. Saint Oreste is also a to"\vn on an eminence 
near the mountain, once the Etruscan Feronia. 
There is an old grotto on the side of the mighty 
crag, and deep clefts, out of which oracle-inspiring 
gases still gush. There ought to be tripods there, 
upon which any one might sit and be a sibyl or a 
prophet for a time. 

We stopped to lunch at Castel Nuovo at twelve 
o'clock, our first stage. It is a small village in the 
Boracic-acid region, told about by Murray ; but I 
do not care about boracic acid in Italy, and as I did 
not see the works, I let them pass. The inn was 
a strange old place, and in the inner vestibule there 
was an altar or cippus of white marble, beautifully 
carved, a bay or olive tree in bas-relief in the centre 
of the side, and a lovely device round the edges. It 
is now put to the base use of a leg to a table, for 
upon it is a stone slab upon which people eat and 
drink. We were led into a large apartment, paved 
with bricks, in diamond shape, and the ceiling high 
and frescoed, and two long tables on each side. At 
one of them we had our lunch. Gaetano is our 
commissary, and we have nothing to do with order- 



ROME TO FLOREXCE. 299 

ing our food. He gave us to-daj beefsteak, ome- 
lette, bread and cheese, and wine, all of excellent 
quality. We neither order nor pay at the moment 
for anything, for he is also our purser, being paid 
finally the amount first agreed upon for the whole 
journey, which is very comfortable, and relieves 
us from all care and imposition. 

After lunch we all went out, and descended into a 
valley — the children far down, but we sat on the 
grass in a shady place near the entrance. I gath- 
ered the prettiest little bouquet in the world, of all 
the colors. ****** 

We left Castel Nuovo at two o'clock. On the 
way, the mountain Soracte took every form — some- 
tiaies a round, sometimes a conical, and oftener a 
long, crested shape. The dells and profound valleys 
on each side of our road, were wonderful for beauty 
and richness. For a great distance the high cause- 
way was apparently built up from an exceedingly 
deep vale — by Romans, of course ; for who else 
would dream that such a stupendous work could be 
done ? Just fancy a wide plain between lofty ranges 
of mountains, and fancy the conception of piling 
up, in the centre of it, a foundation for a road, five 
hundred feet from the plain ! This seems to have 
been done. The roads are all perfect that we have 
yet travelled upon here — hard and smooth, and this 
road over the valley entirely straight. Some of them 
are paved, though not in the Flaminian style, but 
all in consummate order. How can I write down the 



300 NOTES IN ITALY. 

flowers ? The hedges and fields bum with poppies 
of the brightest scarlet, and they have an effect 
among the green grass and shrubbery, which an un- 
travelled American can in no wise imagine. Scarlet 
is so satisfying, so triumphant a color, like the 
sound of a trumpet (as a blind man described it), 
that to see it spread over consecutive miles of coun- 
try, quite overwhelmed me with joy and gratitude ; 
and, contrasting it, the pure gold of the broom is 
sumptuous, and a nameless, lowly purple-blossom 
clothed the ground with royal robes, varied with 
daisies and buttercups, as embroidery. One large 
field might truly have been called " the field of the 
cloth of gold," for, from a distance, there was no 
break in the yellow hue ; just as sometimes the pop- 
pies are one suffusion of fiery red. It is not here 
and there, but everywhere. The sweetbrier contrib- 
utes its delicate beauty to the waysides with long 
wreaths of pale, pink roses. We are perpetually 
accompanied by the lovely mountain-ranges, and 
as the afternoon deepened, they took soft and airy 
tints, seen only in Italy. As we were happily look- 
ing forth on such a profusion of beauty and splen- 
dor of light and space, it was sad to see a long car- 
riage full of prisoners, who had no outlook — not a 
crack, and who had only small openings in the roof 
of their prison, partly shaded by extinguishers, for 
breathing. In front sat two dragoons, and the vet- 
turino. This melancholy carriage we saw three 
times, aijd I was suffocated and miserable at the 



R03IE TO FLOREKGE. COl 

sight. Gaetano called it a carccllaria. They might 
at least have had grated windows. I cannot bear to 
see anything alive boxed up. No matter what a 
man has done, he ought to have air and light while 
he has life, even if he have forfeited his freedom. 
Air and light cannot make him worse, but probably 
would make him better. Justice should not be angry 
and revengeful with crime, but only careful that the 
innocent should not suffer by it. 

At half-past five we arrived at Civita Castellana, 
and met near the entrance a line of donkeys, carry- 
ing loads of hay. Very comical was the picture of 
the short donkey, with Lis long ears and small fi'ont 
presentment, with such a wide-spreading, high load ; 
so immensely disproportioned. The hotel was a 
large, respectable building, and we were agreeably 
surprised at being ushered up into this enchanting 
suite of rooms, opening ovit upon a broad, covered 
terrace or loggia, which commands a magnificent 
scene. Our apartments are in a row, and we are 
quite by ourselves. Everything looks clean and 
nice, and the prospect before us, who can describe ? 
Now we see Italy, the Italy of song. It is also real 
Italy, which no song can fully render — Byron's, 
however, best. We never could have appreciated 
Byron's genius if we had not come to Italy. He 
came, saw, and became master or conqueror of the 
land, by reproducing it in words. The truth of his 
portraiture is marvellous. He was only thirteen or 
fourteen days in Rome, and he not only looked at 



802 NOTES IN ITALY, 

everything in that short time, but sung it as no one 
else before or since has done. 

From our loggia we look down into a deep ravine ; 
and rocks of red tufa, perpendicular, and hundreds 
of feet high, rise out of it, and form its sides, like 
fortresses, overgrown and adorned with foliage of 
trees and shrubs. From the summits of these para- 
pets stretches a green campagna, with groves and 
meadows, in smooth undulations, and far in the 
middle distance lofty hills rise — some crowned wdth 
cities ; and beyond these the grand mountains fill 
the remote spaces, each one lovelier, as it climbs 
higher and farther off into the pale blue and purple 
and roseate abysses. An arched bridge spans the 
defile, the limbs of the arches resting on the very 
bottom of the gulf. Soracte is on the other side. I 
have been trjdng to sketch, but just in the midst 
dinner was announced, and took up the goldenest 
hour between six and seven, and afterward it was 
too late. 

# * -X- * -Jf -x- 

The moon is up now, and I have been on the ter- 
race to see it, all having gone to walk except sleep- 
ing little K. and myself. It is not a full moon, 
and there is a clear but dark light, most magical and 
mystical. How fortunate we are to have the moon- 
light ! 

Teeni. 

May 25th. — "We arrived here at twelve o'clock, 
having left Civita Castellana before six this morn- 



ROME TO FLOREKCE. 303 

ing. We came to see the Falls of Terni ; but 
it has rained all the afternoon, and we cannot stir 
out — a pouring rain. It is necessary to walk a mile 
after driving as far as possible, and so it is quite an 
impracticable thing to-day. What a misfortune ! 
We can see nothing from this Hotel delle Tre 
Colonne excepting an old house, two feet from our 
windows, and a man making a table at an open 
casement. Not even a green leaf or a blade of grass. 

We had a superb drive this morning, looking into 
the vale of the Nar. The olive plantations are very 
numerous, and grape-vines are trained to separate, 
short trees, not far apart, so that, perhaps, when the 
vines become long they are looped from one tree to 
another, and make a continued canopy of grapes. 
The olive-leaf is dull-green, just as we always know 
it, and one side is silvery, so that when it flutters in 
the breeze it looks paler than when in repose. It is 
not a pretty tree at all. 

We also passed the vale of the Nera and of the 
Treja, and drove through the town of Narni, the 
birthplace of Nerva. It is the Nequinum of the 
Romans. It has a square castle, which is a prison 
now. Near this old Umbrian city we looked down 
into the lovel}^ vale^of the Nar. 

We wished to go into the cathedral of Narni, be- 
cause of a masterpiece of Lo Spagna — the Coro- 
nation of the Madonna ; but we could not, as there 
was no time. 

We kept coming again upon the wonderful Fla- 



8Ci NOTES IN ITALY. 

minian Way, which goes farther than Soracte, I find ; 
and along it we saw many more ruins of tombs ; 
and we went through the village of Otricoli (Utri- 
culum), the first Umbrian city that yielded to Rome. 
There was the most extraordinary formation of rock. 
It is volcanic — all the region is volcanic — and 
seemed to be in distinct layers. Some of it was 
horizontal, and some slanting one way and some 
another, in opposite directions. We passed over a 
fine bridge after leaving Otricoli, built by Augustus, 
and now called the Ponte Felice, and then Bor- 
ghetto appeared, with its old fortress. The scenery 
upon the near approach to the town of Terni is in- 
describably enchanting. It is singular that one of 
the Bomans should have made these falls. It was 
Curius Dentatus, the Sabine conqueror. I have read 
all about it, but cannot stop to recount the matter. 

Magnificent mountains, rich with foliage and cul- 
tivation, swept down to the deliciously verdant vale, 
along which a pale ghost of a river meandered. 
The rivers of Italy seem a solution of white or yel- 
low clay, and are nowhere clear and limpid. We saw 
very many beds of rivers, long ago run past, or per- 
haps never full, excepting after the melting of snows 
on the heights. Close on the plains, beside the 
river-beds, were ruins of towers, small castles, or 
houses ; and just over the site of these buildings the 
shrubbery was particularly luxuriant, as if the mem- 
ories of the hearthstones were pleasant and flowery. 
It was so, I remember, with the ruins of a small 



ROME TO FLORENCE. 805 

temple or clmrcli in the Isle of Man. It stood in 
tlie centre of a grass-field, and the walls remained 
standing, while the roof was gone ; and it was so 
full of rich plants and lovely trees, which towered 
up over the broken edges, that it had the effect of 
a gigantic vase of flowers, standing on an emerald 
table. 

SrOLETO. 

May 26th. — We left Terni at six this morning, 
which proved fair ; and our first stage was to this 
town, where we breakfasted at twelve, our usual hour 
for dejemier a la foiirchette. The first Bishop of Spo- 
leto was a contemporary of St. Peter, Murray says. 
It is a queer old town, with narrow streets and pic- 
turesque Eoman gates, at one of which Hannibal was 
repulsed, — and that one we have walked through or 
passed under. It is of vast strength, and quite en- 
tire, and has the ruin of a lion on one side, with a 
lamb in its mouth. We have been to see the Ca- 
thedral, which contains some fine pictures ; and over 
the entrance is an ancient mosaic of Christ and the 
Virgin and St. John. 

A beautiful effect the aqueduct has, with its nu- 
merous arches — spanning the deep vale between the 
elevp^^'on upon which Spoleto stands and the moun- 
* ti pi< Wixx '^aetano brought us into the city through 
stop theto the ^ of acacias, and by a delightfully an- 
i\_-St. Tb'^T^^ll of ruined watch-towers, that looked 
as if tuey might have stood there since the founda- 
tion of the world. 



306 NOTES IN ITALY, 

FoLiGNO {Fulginium). 

May 26tli. — "We left Spoleto at a little after two, 
and arrived here early enough to take a walk about 
the town. We climbed more than three thousand 
feet to Monte Somna, by the aid of oxen, added to 
our four horses. At Le Pene the Clitumnus rises, 
which is the only translucent stream we have yet 
seen in Italy. Byron has immortalized its purit}^ 
as well as the " delicate temple" on its banks. The 
temple has fluted Corinthian columns, and is very 
small, facing the river. We saw " the milk-white 
steer," and also a flock of lambs, passing over a fairy 
arched bridge, the sweetest picture of peace and 
innocence ; and it is singular that Byron's words 
should prove so literally true at that moment. The 
vale of Clitumnus is wonderfully beautiful, and in- 
spired Yirgil to sing of it, and of its flocks and 
steers, ages ago — and it sings itself also. The Via 
riaminia again appears here ; and the town of 
Montefalco is seen from the road, before we arrive 
at Foligno — Foligno, the scene of so many earth- 
quakes, and once the possessor of Kaphael's divine 
Madonna (now in the Vatican), in which a thunder- 
bolt is painted, descending upon the city. We 
walked out, and visited the Cathedral. Itajeg"\ls 
looked very bare, after being accustomed \o-^ the 
richly-marbled walls of Boman churches. , p^^^e 
were two half-ruined, red-marble lions at the en- 
trance, and a sculptured Gothic front ; but the rest 



ROME TO FLORENCE. GO? 

of tlie edifice was painfully modernized and wliite- 
wasbed. A little boy, witli one leg, followed us all 
over the town, into all tlie churches, as if he were a 
spy. He asked for nothing, but looked on and 
grinned. We went into Santo Domenico, once cov- 
ered with frescoes, also whitewashed nearly over noAv, 
yet a few heads and groups are left of the ancient 
paintings — heads of saints and angels. In Santa 
Maria infra Portas we saw the ancient temple of 
Diana, now a chapel, in which St. Peter and St. Paul 
once said mass ; and on the wall is a very old paint- 
ing, in a ruinous condition. It is beautifully arched, 
and a deep-mullioned, small window remains on one 
side. This, again, is another of those very small and 
perfect temples of Greek design. All about the 
church were frescoes saved from the general white- 
wash, some of which were well worth study. 

In this strange, weird, rambling old hotel, we are 
to remain to-night. 

Assist. 

May 27th. — We left Foligno at six and passed the 
town of Spello (Hispellum), whose treasures of art 
we should have liked to go and see, but Gaetano 
drove pitilessly by, as it was not in our contract to 
stop there, and brought us to Assisi, so associated 
with St. Francis. It is the native town of Metas- 
tasio, and above all contains the works of Giotto, 
in a large convent and church of St. Francis. xV 



a03 NOTES UT ITALY. 

liorril^le, dirtj scout ran by the side of our carriage 
for many miles ; and when we set forth to go and 
see the town, he presented himself as guide. I told 
him we did not want him, but he followed us just 
the same, and went to the Cathedral with us and to 
the Church of Santa Chiara. But then we made 
the hostess dismiss him, and provide another guide, 
who proved pleasant and intelligent, and was clean 
and respectable. He went with us to the famous 
convent and church. It has an upper and lower 
part, beneath which is still a crypt, which contains 
St. Francis' body. The middle part is deeply im- 
pressive, with its Gothic vaultings and arcades, and 
sombre light. It seemed perfectly dark w^hen we 
passed from the sunshine into its nave, but after we 
became more owlish, we could see a little. It is the 
first specimen of Gothic architecture in this part of 
Italy, and it is really delightful to see Gothic archi- 
tecture after so much Greek and classic in Rome, 
and elsewhere in Southern Europe. A Franciscan 
priest was summoned by the guide, and he took us 
first to the high altar, above which, on the ceiling, 
are some of Giotto's masterpieces. There are four 
compartments, illustrating the three virtues of St. 
Francis — his poverty, chastity, and obedience — and 
in the fourth is his apotheosis. We broke our necks 
looking at these frescoes, but it was worth while. 
They are astonishingly bright still, and full of beauty 
and grace — especially the groups of angels round the 
saint's throne. But it is impossible in such hurried 



ROME TO FLORENCE. 300 

visits to immortal works, to give an adequate idea 
of their character. Everything was gorgeous — all 
the wood or stone work covered with rich, white 
silk, embroidered with flowers, and every kind of 
splendor — all culminating in the masterpieces of 
Giotto above. We were not allowed much time to 
stay, and followed the monk into some side-chapels, 
of which I particularly remember one by Andrea del 
Ingegno, and one by Dono Doni. That by Andrea 
is covered by sibyls and prophets, grand and beau- 
tiful, and so much admired by Raphael that he is 
said to have imitated them in his sibyls of the Santa 
Maria della Pace, in Rome. But it is a pretty bold 
sa3'ing that Raphael imitated any one. Dono Doni 
has illustrated the life and death of St. Stephen, 
and I perfectly have in my mind the face of Stephen, 
when he kneels to be stoned, with hands extended, 
and turning a full, radiant countenance. It is in- 
deed " as the face of an angel." With what won- 
derful devoutness these ancient masters painted ! 
They pray, they adore God, they deny themselves, 
they live gloriously, — all with their pencil. They 
painted religiously, and there is an expression in 
the faces and figures nowhere else found, except- 
ing in Raphael, who imbibed so deeply the spirit of 
those men, and was their last expression. In what 
is called the vestibule of the middle church, was a 
chapel with locked gate, in which was a picture by 
Perugino that seemed exceedingly beautiful, at tlio 
distance we stood. I was surprised that the priest 



310 NOTES IN ITALY. 

did not let us in, for we had apparently been ad- 
mitted into all the holy places ; but perhaps they 
are afraid of some sudden escapade, as it is a framed 
painting, and not secure on the walls. In this ves- 
tibule we saw some tombs, one reputed to be that 
of the Cyprian Queen Ecuba, who gave a huge vase 
of ultramarine to the church, for the painting of the 
ceiling. The vase (which was there) is big enough 
to hold sufficient ultramarine for the painting of the 
sky itself, I should fancy. I should like to spend 
weeks in looking at many frescoes that we could 
only glance at. We then ascended to the upper 
church, out of the crypt-like gloom of the middle 
one, and it was like climbing into the New Jerusa- 
lem, so light, so gorgeous, so lofty and airy is this 
stately Gothic structure. The roof is painted by 
Cimabue, and the walls by Giotto, Cimabue, and 
Guinta da Pisa. Damp has very much injured a 
great part of these frescoes ; but enough remains to 
show how fine and brilliant they once were. The 
life of St. Francis, and subjects from the Bible, are 
represented. When I remarked upon the cheerful 
splendor of the upper church, the priest said that it 
was for festas, and the one beneath for prayer and 
devotion. The windows are filled with painted glass, 
which adds to the glowing effect. We did not go 
down into the crypt. 

In the Piazza of the town we saw the Temple of 
Minerva, or rather its portico, with fiuted columns, 
well preserved, and very beautiful — a little morsel 



ROME TO FLORENCE. 311 

of Greece set down in tlie heart of the old Etruscan 
town. We shall leave Assisi early, so as to go into 
the great church of Santa Maria degl' Angeli, about 
a mile from the town. 

Peeugia. 

May 27th. — We arrived in good season at this cel- 
ebrated city, and Gaetano brought us to the Grande 
Hotel de France, where we are very comfortable for 
our two days* and nights' sojourn. Our journey 
from Assisi was superb, as all our route has been. 
We first drove to the vast Church of Santa Maria, 
peculiarly interesting as associated with St. Francis. 
In the very midst of it is the old, humble stone 
chapel in which he established his order — once 
frescoed all over, but now dimmed and faded, so that 
scarcely a form can be made out. Fancy a defaced 
hut built of stones, planted in the crossing of the 
lofty arches of the transepts. Earthquakes have 
once shaken down the vast superstructure (since 
restored), but the lowly chapel remained unharmed. 
Over the arch of its fa9ade, Overbeck has painted a 
famous fresco of the vision of St. Francis, very bright, 
and with one lovely face and figure. The old verger 
took us into a tiny stanza, covered wath beautiful 
majestic saints and seers by Lo Spagna, fellow-saints 
of St. Francis ; but they are much faded and injured. 
After we began to see in the dark little cell, divine 
faces beamed upon us, with the usual sacred bend 
of the devout heads and forms, so like prayers and 



313 NOTES IN ITALY, 

praises, infinitely affecting and attractive. This is 
preraphaelite painting, I suppose, as it was before 
Raphael ; but what is called preraphaelite pain ting- 
in England is not like this. Expression without 
beauty, to be sure, we see in modern English pictures, 
called by this name ; but all the religion is left out, 
all the holy fervor, sincerity, and simplicity. Per- 
haps I should not say the sincerity is left out ; but 
the simplicity is — the single thought — the unselfish 
aim. And the color in these ancient pictures is pure 
and harmonious. It is a bouquet of flowers, a bit of 
the rainbow, — a sunset, yet all flowing and blended. 
It is also a carcanet of jewels. The holy artists did 
not think it incumbent upon their truth and sincerity 
to paint every hair on the skin, or the rough ferocity 
of the weather-beaten, sunburnt comj)lexion — such 
as I shrunk from in the galleries of England. In the 
living subject. Nature contrives to avoid this shock- 
ing bareness — but the prying modern artist seems 
to take magnifying glasses to the human face, as well 
as to the landscape — and bring to view what is veiled 
from common sight. Oh, why does not some one 
draw and engrave the divine creations of the old 
masters in fresco, before they are all faded away ! 
I should think Pio Nono would be better employed 
in preserving such works from destruction than in 
writing encyclical letters ; for I believe he would save 
more souls by it. If any visible thing can win a soul 
to Heaven, it is this embodied worship in spirit and 
in truth. He wishes to take jewels from his tiara to 



ROME TO FLORENCE. 313 

excavate treasures from Roman soil, and I should 
be obliged to him if he would ; but I would thank 
him more for sending the best artists all about Italy 
to secure fi*om the walls these vanishing, irreplace- 
able miracles of human genius, painted in awful 
reverence and love and childlike faith, without a 
thought of earthly fame. Lo Spagna, next to Ra- 
phael, was the most eminent of the scholars of Pe- 
rugioo. Andrea del Ingegno was another, he who 
painted the sibyls and prophets, which Raphael so 
much admired. Dono Doni painted the angelic face 
of St. Stephen, which I lately saw, and Gentile da 
Fabriano, whose picture of the Virgin with angels, 
now in the Colonna Palace, we could not sufficiently 
admire, was a predecessor of Perugino, and one of 
the oldest masters of the Umbrian school. 

After leaving this interesting church in a kind of 
despair at its fading glories, our way lay through a 
rich plain of Shinar, and during nearly the whole 
route, we could see, on a lofty, distant mountain, the 
city of Perugia, marked by a very high campanile 
and a flush of red along the summit, caused by the 
tiled roofs of the houses. I did not comprehend 
how we were to attain this " city on a hill, which 
could not be hid," unless our horses turned Pegasuses 
or we became angels. Gaetano presently began to 
prepare for the ascentby a deep and sonorous call, that 
filled the air and the welkin ; and lie was responded 
to by another far-reaching and powerful voice. He 
called for oxen, and by the time we arrived at the 

14 



314 NOTES IN ITALY. 

farm-liouse, on the road, a man appeared with two 
white steers — " milk-white steers" — which were at- 
tached by strong cords to our carriage and horses. 
All alighted and walked, excepting myself — though 
one or two gave out before the end ; but three of us 
actually climbed up to Perugia on their feet — R. 
only failing at the very last, part of the way. We 
entered Etruria over a bridge, Ponte San Giovanni, 
and drove through the vale of the Tiber before we 
began to mount ; on every side, endless splendors of 
scenery. 

We walked out as soon as we arrived, after de- 
jeune. A guide accosted us, but we refused him for 
this afternoon, and tried to find places ourselves. 
We went to the Church of St. Domenic, pretty near 
the hotel, where we found some great wonders. A 
ferret-eyed sacristan seized upon us directly, and 
accompanied us about, though I told him we had no 
money with us. We began to think him quite un- 
earthly, having little regard to the gold that perishes ; 
but our visions of his heavenl^^-mindedness were dis- 
pelled by his informing me that he would come to 
our Locanda for payment. He first took us into the 
chapel of St. Orsola, to show us some pictures of 
Pra Angelico. One was a Madonna and Child — the 
child such a glorified innocence as never was por- 
trayed before. He sits upon the Virgin's knee, and 
looks straight out of the picture, with a face that 
might make the world sweet and holy, if it were 
oft^n enough contemplated. A clear, pure, spiritual 



ROME TO FLORENCE. 315 

radiance beams from it, with colors so delicate that 
I can compare them only to those of a blush-rose, a 
forget-me-not, and pale amber, gleaming through a 
lily. Some injury to the cheek of Mary destroys tlie 
effect of her once lovely face, but I saw that it was 
once lovely, and it is turned upon the child. On 
the side of this picture hangs one containing St. 
Domenic and St. Anthony of Florence. St. Anthony 
is one of the gi'andest and serenest of figures — ^its 
grandeur showing that there was no lack of strength 
ill Fra Angelico. He stands in superb robes, reading 
a book with entire absorption of attention. Calm, 
majestic, noble, benign, the repose of Eternity has 
passed into his countenance and form. The very 
folds of his gorgeous drapery have the grandeur 
of mountain ranges, sweeping down into valleys. 
Thought and prayer are the phylacteries upon his 
brow. He looks as immutable, in his collected 
Faith, as Soracte. Crimson, purple, and gold 
throw around him all the prestige they can, but the 
moonlight of peace about his closed Ups transcends 
rainbows. There sat the baby Prince of Peace 
close by, whose revelations were to evoke this sub- 
lime content in St. Anthony — a content that neu- 
tralizes all the great and petty trials of life — a con- 
tent glorious enough to be embodied in the form of 
an archangel Michael, holding in a leash of iron the 
evil that opposes good. St. Anthony's foot was on 
the dragon as effectually as that of the celestial 
hierarch of Guido or of Eaphael. 



61Q NOTES IN ITALY. 

On the otlier side is St. Catliarine, queenly as 
queen should be, but at the same time gentle and 
sweet and devout, as queens not often are. 

We then went into the sacristy, where were sev- 
eral heads of saints, and two pictures by Giannicola. 
One is of the Madonna and St. John. It is plain at 
a glance that they have just come from Calvary, 
after the Crucifixion, tliough there is no cross, and 
nothing represented of the late sacrifice — merely the 
two figures walking. Mary is a little in advance of 
St. John. Her hands are tightl}^ clasped, with pro- 
found, repressed agony. She looks out of the pic- 
ture with a pale face that has seen death, and the 
death of one who is life of her life. There is no 
distortion of grief, though unspeakable grief is ex- 
pressed. The head is slightly bent on one side — a 
certain terror of sorrow is in her wonderful eyes, as 
if she feared to know how bereft she is, and how 
awful a scene she has witnessed. The sword is 
cutting into her heart at this moment ; slie is feel- 
ing its keenest pain. A mute appeal is in her gaze — 
a desert of woe — the most heart-smiting pathos. 
Both the figure and face are also noble. St. John 
can do nothing for her yet. God alone can minister 
to her vast dismay, which invests her with a heroic 
dignity. John turns his countenance toward the 
Cross, evidently, though none is visible. He finds 
it hard to leave even the ruined Temple of his Lord ; 
but there seems a marvellous light falling on his 
features from afar, as if the love of Christ shone 



BOME TO FLORENCE. \][1 

upon tliem. Like Mary, lie is of noble figure and 
air, and a tender grace sways his movement. I am 
sure liis face is bathed in tears. He extends his 
hands toward Calvary, with impassioned, wild sor- 
row. I think John is not now occupied with his 
new care of Mary : he is only intent on his own loss, 
and yet a cord already binds them together. 

The pendant to this is Elizabeth and St. John the 
Baptist, but I cannot recall its details now ; for 
though admirable, it is yet far excelled by the other. 
In the sacristy are other injured small pictures by 
Fra Angelico, beautiful as far as they can be seen. 

In a very dim aisle of the church, we were shown 
a large painting of the Adoration of the Magi, 
whose author was doubtful ; but it was a great w^ork. 
Gentile da Fabriano or Bonfigli is supposed to be 
the artist. Often these pictures are thought to be 
composed by several artists together, and the verger 
said this one was. 

But the other treasure of St. Domenic is a small 
masterpiece of Perugino, called St. Columba. Un- 
derneath it is written a verse from the Canticles, 
in Latin : " Show me thy face, my dove, my beloved, 
at the threshold of the door," or something to that 
effect. St. Columba stands in the Domenican habit, 
holding a dove, and round her veiled head is a 
wreath of white daisies. The Domenican habit is a 
white under-vest, with a black chasuble that goes 
over the back of the head, and falls in folds over the 
figure. The face is divinely beautiful ; divine in ex- 



318 N'OTES m ITALY. 

pression, and perfectly beautiful in feature, witli a 
pure, silvery color, like that of the dove she holds 
in her hands. The head inclines to the left a little. 
It is entrancing beauty combined with heavenly 
purity, and there is a something for which there are 
no words, in the deeply religious pictures of that 
age, before which we must bow in silence. It is 
something that transcends mortal capacity, and 
must have affected the artist as it affects us who 
look at his work. I cannot doubt that PeiTigino 
v/as awe-struck by this face and presence ; for his 
prayer and his faith brought down from heaven into 
it, what was not in pencil or palette, nor in his own 
consciousness. To the great state of St. Columba's 
innocence, let kings bow their crowned heads. She 
is as inaccessible in her lily spotlessness as the 
moon riding in the blue abysses. Let the stars 
wait upon her as well. I am wholly baffled in try- 
ing to describe her, for she is ineffable. 

We tried to find San Pietro in Martire, said to 
contain a famous Madonna of Perugino, but we 
could not succeed, and so we went to a height over- 
looking a grand sweep of mountain and vale, to 
watch the sun set, before dinner. The clouds were 
sultry, and we did not witness so fine a pageant as 
we expected, though it was worth looking at ; and 
the snow-crested Apennines carried me off into 
dreamland. After dinner we thought we would go 
and watch the moon rise, but it became so cloudy 
wo gave it up. 



ROME TO FLORENCE. 319 

May 28tli. — We tried to do Avitliout a guide to- 
day, but finally were obliged to submit to one, after 
several weary efforts to find places alone. We first 
strayed to an outlook, different to the one Ave found 
last evening, which commanded even a more magnifi- 
cent scene ; and while solacing ourselves with it, a 
young man saluted us, and asked if we wished to 
see the Sala di Cambio. As this was the identical 
" Sala" we had been seeking for an hour, we con- 
cluded to let him take possession of us, at least to 
the entrance of that. 

I expected a very large hall, but it was a small and 
low apartment, long ago used as an exchange, but 
now left to the kings, prophets, sibyls, and gods of 
Perugino and Raphael. One compartment of the 
walls contains the six sibyls and six prophets, and the 
Eternal Father above them. On another are heroes 
and philosophers, with virtues enthroned over their 
heads. Opposite the door of entrance are the 
Nativity and Transfiguration. Cato is on one side 
of the door. On the roof are exquisite arabesques, 
and the gods, as the planets, in chariots drawn by 
nymphs, birds, and animals, Apollo in the midst. 
Among the prophets, Perugino has placed Raphael 
as David, the sweet singer of Israel. It is one of 
those portraits of Raphael which Perugino alone 
could paint, and Raphael alone could inspire. An 
infinite gi'ace in the head and movement, a wondrous, 
princely beauty, — recalling his other portrait of Ra- 
phael in the great picture of the Resurrection in the 



820 NOTES IN ITALY. 

Pinacotlieca of the Yatican. In tliat, he is one of the 
sleeping soldiers, his beautiful head reposing on one 
arm, and the profile of his face given. As David, 
he looks straight forward. A portrait of Perugino, 
by himself, hangs on a pilaster, between the kings 
and heroes. His Socrates is ideal. The beloved 
old snub nose is omitted. Indeed, all are ideal ex- 
cept Raphael, and he is ideal in his real beauty. A 
rich, sweet fancy it was that brooded and traced such 
forms and faces for these illustrious men — such as 
they ought to have, according to their historic fame. 
As to the roof, it is plain enough that Raphael 
held the pencil there. After seeing the loggie of 
the Vatican, I knew his cunning hand in those lab- 
yrinths of grace, wreaths of wild arabesques encir- 
cling the gods and goddesses — not Avild " beyond 
the reach of art" and beauty of beauty. Who is like 
Raphael? He is the perfect flower of the old 
schools, the rose of past time, the opal of jewels. 
As w^e were about leaving most reluctantly, the 
custode of the hall invited us to enter what he called 
the chapel. It is small and covered with frescoes 
by Giannicola, and a Baptism of Christ by Peru- 
gino. There saints and doctors, all living, with fine 
expressions, and one sibyl of great beaut}^ — the 
Persican, I think. A young artist was sitting there, 
copying the groups and single figures with a lead- 
pencil, in an extraordinary manner, and with the 
utmost fidelity. He, and others as accomplished 
and faithful, should be commissioned to save in 



ROME TO FLORENCE. IJSl 

imperisliable lines the vanisliing masterpieces of 
fresco-paiDting, so that at least the designs and ex- 
pression may not be lost, though the color elude 
seizure. There was some wood-carving in the Sala, 
but I do not know what it was, I was so absorbed 
by the frescoes ; but as it was designed by Perugino, 
it must be worth study. 

We then went to Sant Agostino, where are a good 
many oil-pictures by Perugino, but many of them 
much injured. Two, however, are entirely preserved. 
They hang on each side the entrance, one the Bap- 
tism, and the other the Nativity of Christ. Both 
are fine, but the Baptism pre-eminent. The figures 
of Christ and St. John are of delicate proportions 
and very graceful. John looks up to heaven as he 
is about to pour the water upon the sacred head. 
Christ looks down, with hands folded, I think, upon 
his breast. One such picture only ought to be seen 
in a day, and I have seen so many ! I remember 
well the ecstatic reverence and joy of St. John as 
Christ bids him " fulfil all righteousness." One has 
*' a shade the more," but both have a divine expres- 
sion, and both are in fresh, early manhood. The 
holy dove opens the realms above, and behind each 
kneels or stands an angel. The angel attendant 
upon St. John is the most celestial of the two. 
When Perugino painted angels, I am sure they must 
have come down to him for portraiture, so wonder- 
fully does he leave out time and sex, and give 
*' Thrones, Dominations, Princedoms, Virtues, Pow- 

14* 



322 NOTES IN ITALY. 

ers," in what can hardly be called human form, so 
dimmed has become " God's own image" in man. 

In the Nativity, the Joseph is fine, and Mary most 
lovely, gazing in adoring wonder at the newlj^-born 
babe lying on the ground before them. We looked 
at all the works said to be by Perugino, or Pietro, 
as the old sacristan called him ; for his name was 
Pietro Yanucci, and the cognomen he goes by is as 
if one said " the Perugian." 

We tried to get into the Palazzo Staffa then, but 
that and the Palazzo Baldeschi were shut, and so 
wx came home to go again after lunch with Ada in 
addition, as I felt very uneasy not to have her see 
all that we did. We told the guide to be at hand at 
half-past two — and he came duly, and we went first 
to the Church of San Francesco dei Conventuali. 
It was the hour of siesta, and the monks were so 
fast asleep that our guide found it difficult to rouse 
them ; and meanwhile we were occupied in looking 
at a remarkable facade of the Confraternita of St. 
Bernard, by Agostino della Robbia. It is all in 
colored marbles, carved in figures of saints and 
angels, with wreaths of flowers and fruits, and every 
possible invention, as various as fancy could make 
them. At last an evil-looking fi*iar appeared, and 
admitted us. We saw a martyred St. Sebastian, 
painted by Perugino when an old man ; but I can- 
not characterize that, because all the pictures iu that 
church are so completely extinguished by one on the 
right of the chief entrance. It is a large composi- 



ROME TO FLORENCE. 323 

tion of several saints, St. Sebastian being one, and 
this St. Sebastian surpasses all other conceptions of 
him within my present experience. He is not here 
transfixed with arrows, but stands, in the prime 
splendor of youth, a perfect heroic form, in a rich 
corselet and sandals, like an archangel, and a marvel- 
lous helmet of open tracery, which I cannot forgive 
myself for not sketching, as it is altogether unique 
for airy elegance, unlike any other device that was 
ever put upon a head, — and now I have lost it for- 
ever. It presses lightly on the fair golden hair, and 
gives the crowning charm to a face so attractive and 
winning in its princely state, that in my heart I pro- 
nounced him the ideal cavalier, the gentlest, the 
bravest, the truest ; while, added to all this, the hand 
of the master has sanctified him with heavenly grace, 
and he stands confessed a holy saint as well as a hero. 
It is a transfiguring of human elegance into divine 
beauty, such as I could not have conceived possible, 
and such as a Co-Raphaelite or a Pre-Raphaelite only 
could have delineated. I thought it must be St. 
George of Cappadocia, and insisted upon it ; and 
that what they called an arrow was a spear ; but the 
monk and guide objected, and I now find that Mur- 
ray calls him St. Sebastian also. It afflicted me so 
much to know that I should never see him again, 
that I gazed with a trembling eagerness, and took 
no time to glance at the other saints. 

There was, on the opposite side of the nave, an 
admirable copy of Haphael's Entombment, which I 



824 NOTES IN ITALY. 

could really bear to look at. The original belonged 
to this church, and I think it an unpardonable rob- 
bery of Paul V. to have taken it away, and put a 
copy in its place. He was a Prince Borghese, and 
stole it for his own palace, where I saw it in Rome. 
Why should a Pope steal any more than a private 
person ? Does his position as Head of the Church 
make the crime less? I should think he, of all per- 
sons, should obey the commandments. 

We went into the Sacristy to see some curious 
pictures by Pisanello of the life of St. Bernardin. 
They are composed of small figures in the costumes 
of Pisanello's times, which the guide said were 
** molte gentili." There was gi^eat spirit in the atti- 
tudes and heads, and I should have liked to exam- 
ine them minutely, as I would Hogarth's, but there 
•was no time for it. 

We also went to Santa Maria Nuova, and of all I 
saw there, the archangel Gabriel, in an Annuncia- 
tion, made most impression upon me. It is supposed 
to be by Bonfigli, the master of Perugino. The 
angel kneels, with hands folded upon the breast, in 
one of which is the branch of lilies. The beautiful, 
large lids are cast down, the face is very fair, the 
bend of the head most stately and gxaceful. Its 
presence makes a broad circle of light around, and 
while the celestial messenger pays homage, he also 
commands it, by the singular majesty of his bearing. 
Two lesser Princedoms wait upon his state behind. 
I see by this how Perugino was taught to paint arch- 



ROME TO FLORENCE. 325 

angels and angels; but who taught Bonfigli ? and 
must not religious faith have inspired both equally ? 
After the mechanics and technics of the art Avere 
learned, sincere devotion effected the rest, I believe. 

An Adoration of the Magi by Perugino, in his 
best manner, hangs beside this Annunciation, in 
which he has painted himself, and our guide and the 
priest had a fierce battle over it, disputing which 
was the portrait of the artist. The priest had a long 
pole in his hand to point with, and I began to fear 
they would proceed to batter one another, in the very 
presence of the infant Prince of Peace. The early 
style of Perugino is not so simple as the later one. 

We then went to San Severo, to find Eaphael's 
first fresco. It represents Christ, with saints below, 
and the Lord with angels above ; but it is so very 
much defaced that we could not sec it well. All 
that was visible showed the peerless hand, however. 

This afternoon we found entrance into the Palazzo 
Conestabili Staffa, where is the celebrated Staffa Ma- 
donna of Raphael, a very small and exquisite picture, 
as highly finished as a miniature. The Prince has 
enclosed this most precious gem in a case, with 
thick plate-glass over it, locked with a padlock. I 
was well acquainted with it through a good copy 
of it in Rome, by Mr. Thompson ; so good, that 
the Prince himself was highly pleased with it, and 
said it was the only worthy copy that had yet been 
made, and that no one before had caught the pecu- 
liar delicacy of the infant's head. Mary is reading. 



826 NOTES IN ITALY. 

and the child turns to look on the book, and puts his 
little hand on the open page. It is as perfect as a 
work of art can be ; not one careless touch in it all. 
Mr. Thompson's copy is good, but what can be said 
of Raphael's creation ? How could wise and great 
Mr. E. say such a preposterous thing as that it was 
just as well iiot to travel as to travel ! and that each 
man has Europe in him, or something to that effect ? 
No, indeed ; it would be better if every man could 
look upon these wonders of genius, and grow 
thereby. Besides, after Mr. E. had been to Europe 
himself, how could he tell ? Would he willingly 
have foregone all he saw in Italy? It was mere 
transcendental nonsense — such a remark. 

A peace that passes all understanding breathes 
from this little picture. The lovely head of the 
young mother has the sky for background, and a 
delicate landscape stretches far away, with a fairy 
tree in the middle distance. The pure, noble, serene 
brow, the downcast lids — half-moons, fringed with 
shadows — the soft bloom of the oval cheeks, the 
mouth, gently closed in full, rich curves, as fresh as 
the dawn, all blended into an expression of earnest 
thought, combine to make this Madonna the Regina 
Angelorum. The wonderful face is crowned with a 
high head-dress, encircled with a glory ; and the 
robe is deep crimson embroidered with gold, with a 
blue mantle. Tlie elaborate finish of the group re- 
called to me the illuminated missal, of tiny size, 
which the Countess of Waldegrave showed me at 



HOME TO FLORENCE. S37 

Nuneliam Courtney, when we went to see her while 
we were at Oxford. It was the cunning work of 
Baphael, and the miniatures were as brilliant as 
jewels. The missal was not more than three inches 
square, and the pictures in it were in proportion. 
The diligence of Eaphael seems superhuman, when 
I think of all he accomplished in so few years, in 
such a finished manner too — no hurry and no care- 
lessness — and he himself so beautiful and sweet, 
that his creations were the inevitable flowering of 
his nature. He was the culmination of art. No 
one would dream or pretend to excel him, and to 
equal him who would succeed ? 

We saw in the Staffa Palace a beautiful Santa 
E-osa, by Sasso Ferrato. She is a Perugian saint, 
and in the Domenican habit, I think. 

Our guide also took us to the University, where 
was nothing particularly interesting till we came to 
the Pinacotheca, but it was worth any amount of 
toil to see there the chef-d'oeuvre^ or one of the chefs- 
d'oeuvre, of Pinturicchio, in which I saw at last a 
head and face of Christ which I entirely liked. He 
has bowed Himself and given up the ghost, but the 
glory of the soul still sheds light on the body which 
was so pure that it was almost spirit. In this, at 
last, I found consummate beauty without feebleness, 
noblest dignity with perfect grace, holiness with 
majesty, peace with strength. The apostle says we 
" are temples of the living God," but this was the 
only form which was worthy to be completely filled 



328 NOTES IN ITALY. 

with that Presence, and Pinturicchio has pictured it. 
I wonder I have never heard it spoken of. Alas ! I 
aiQ even now losing the vividness of it, and by and 
by I shall not recall it, I fear ; but I will remember 
that it struck to my heart with its divine power, 
sweetness, and greatness. This is the artist who, in 
Rome, frames his Madonnas in cherubic heads — 
roses of God, whose calyces are wings ; but many 
of the ancient masters were in the habit of em- 
broidering the air with these flowers. They illu- 
mine the clouds also, as if to show that Our Father 
is present even in what seems to us to be shadows. 
What a tender manner of teaching this eternal truth ! 
They also enrich the glories round the heads of 
saints, — beaming faces, that embody and make ap- 
prehensible to human perception the encircling, 
divine love that answers to faith and good works. 
If painters now were holy men, and dedicated their 
genius to heaven, perhaps angels and cherubs would 
still live to their imagination, and so to our eyes, 
through their pencils. But what water}^, theatrical, 
unspiritual, impossible angels we have now-a-days ! 
In the University halls we saw a very singular 
work. I supposed it to be an engraving of Raphael's 
Belle Jardiniere, but the custode told us that it was 
all composed of almost microscopically small words, 
written with a pen. 

May 29th. — We went to Saint Domenico after 
breakfast to see St. Columba, and to pay the sharp, 



ROME TO FLOREXCE. 320 

ferret-ejed sacristan. The pilasters were hung with 
crimson-damask, in preparation for the festival of 
Corpus Christi, next Thursday. After looking long 
at the sculptured tomb of Benedict XI., which is a 
very celebrated work of the Eenaissance, the sacris- 
tan, who had been assisting at mass, in St. Orsola's 
chapel, came to unveil St. Columba. 

****** 

We afterward found the Madonna of Perugino we 
had been searching for, in a palace, where it had 
been taken to be copied, and we were disappointed 
in it. Mary sits with tlie infant, and six monks 
kneel in white habits, ejicli side of her. Perhaps it 
was not placed at advantage, but I could not find it 
so exquisite as it is described. Ada and I then set 
forth by ourselves to see the city, and suddenly wo 
arrived at the Cathedral of St. Lorenzo, and thought 
we would go in to rest. A great Function was pro- 
ceeding. A Cardinal was on his throne, and several 
prelates round him, and the altar was covered with 
gold sacramental vessels, and the organ-thunder 
was rolling through the great spaces, while a crowd 
of people stood about. The prelates were gorgeous- 
ly arrayed in crimson cloth of gold. As they moved 
in the ceremony, at one instant they were flaming 
in T}Tian splendor, and at another glowing in creamy 
gold — so magically were their garments woven. I 
believe Mrs. Browning somewhere describes cloth 
of gold — but it is necessary to see it on moving 
forms, to estimate its magnificence. The Cardinal 



330 NOTES IN ITALY. 

Archbishop had a red and gold mitre on his head, 
and a gold crozier in his hand. It was a superb 
picture. There was a blessing of candles, as at Can- 
dlemas, and high mass was performed at the altar. 
The music was triumphant, and we did not under- 
stand what it all meant ; but afterward we heard 
that at Easter this Cardinal was ill, so that to-day 
he was celebrating Easter ! He was probably also 
ill at Candlemas, for he was celebrating that too. 

Lake Thrasymene. 

May 29th — Passignano. — Here is the battle-field 
of Hannibal and Flaminius. We arrived at this little 
town, on the immediate shore of the famous lake, at 
about five, and took a walk before dinner. Boatmen 
assailed us to row upon the water, but we thought 
it too late. The little children began to beg, and 
soon we counted forty beggars, all very merry and 
dirty, importunate and inodorous. Nothing we could 
do or say would disperse them. When we turned 
to go back, they all turned, but finally some soldiers 
drove them aside, so that we strolled beyond the 
inn, the other way, with some comfort. The lake is 
eight miles across in wide parts, and thirty miles in 
circuit. Low hills, rising often into high mountains, 
are on the shores for miles, and also extensive plains 
stretch away, level with the water, on one of which 
was the battle. Acres of olive-trees, emblems of 
peace, grow in all directions. The olive and the 



ROME TO FLORENCE. S31 

grape, and waving fields of grain and grass, fill the 
scene with verdure and beauty and promises of 
plenty. We watched the sunset, and the soft tints 
purpling the hills. U. sat down on a rocky beacli, 
and sketched the old town, which pitches headlong 
into the lake, a ruined castle making the background 
and apex. We found lovely plants, and it all seemed 

a dream of enchantment. J rushed to the beach, 

as the hart to the brook, to find his beloved shells. 
R. searched for her equally beloved flowers, and 
discovered a spike of new purple blossoms, such as 
we had never seen before. 

We were served with a generous dinner, of which 
the poetical part was the course of fish from the 
classic lake, which we ate reflectingly. I felt as if I 
were a person in an ancient history of Rome. Han- 
nibal's elephants were close at hand. The tent of 
Flaminius was pitched near by — alas for him ! Mem- 
ories of war, defeat, conquest, alternated ^^'ith the 
deep peace of the present moment, with the vines 
and olives and fig-trees, the flocks and herds — the 
undisturbed grain waving, the birds singing rounde- 
lays, and the smooth waves lapsing to drown the 
distant tumult of war ; so real and profound and 
wide the peace, so more and more ghostly and van- 
ishing the battle. While I dreamed over the purple 
twilight, the moon rose opposite our windows. First 
a heap of clouds took fiery hues, like the reflection 
of a burning city, though rather more pink than 
red ; and then the gold rim of the moon marked a 



332 NOTES IN ITALY. 

clear arc of a circle over the mountain. When it 
rose a little higher, a column of silver struck down 
from its full orb into the depths of the lake, and 
soon the whole atmosphere was flooded with white 
radiance. A still vaster peace rose with the moon 
to possess the earth. I will write to E. as the muse 
of history, before I sleep. 

Arezzo. 

May 80th. — We left Passignano this morning at 
six, and when we arrived at the Sanguinetto, the 
small river that ran blood, we all alighted from the 
carriage to look about us, and gather olive-branches 
and oak to w^eave into garlands — emblems, as U. 
happily said, of " Conquest sealed by Peace." On 
this spot the battle raged. 

" Far other scene is Thrasymene now — 
Her lake a sheet of silver, and her plain 
Rent by no ravage save the gentle plough," 

as Byron so fitly sings. 

We soon left the Papal States, and entered Tus- 
cany, and stopped to show our passport. A fee of 
ninety cents left our luggage reposing in its moun- 
tains of dust undisturbed — so wise and courteous is 
Tuscany ; and we drove merrily on — I might say 
under Tuscan hats, for immediately these enormous 
disks appeared, forming vast backgrounds to the 
faces of the peasantry. While we were waiting 



ROME TO FLORENCE. 333 

about the passport, I sketched the lake and one of 
its three islands — Isola Maggiore. We passed Ca- 
muscia and Cortona also, with its great church and 
convent of Santa Margherita, and I caught its out- 
line in my little book. We ought to have visited it 
for its pictures and antiquities. It crowns a moun- 
tain, like so many cities we have seen. This is pecu- 
liarly interesting, and older than the siege of Troy, 
and it is the Corythus of Virgil. So now we came 
to Arezzo, the birthplace of a crowd of great men. 
We have been to see Petrarch's house and the 
Cathedral and Santa Maria della Piere, once the 
Temple of Bacchus. Petrarch's house has no ap- 
pearance of antiquity, being kept in excellent repair. 
It is not a large edifice ; and when Ada and I went 
to look at it a second time, a beautiful dove w^as 
perched upon the upper step of the door, and so 
tame that we approached quite near, without start- 
ling it. I thought of Laura, haunting the spot. 
Opposite, in the street, is Boccaccio's w^ell, the 
scene of one of his stories. I sketched both, and 
also the dove. The Cathedral is very grand, and 
has the most superb painted glass — better than any 
in England. One circular window over the west 
front is particularly glorious ; but so are all. One, 
"The Calling of Matthew," Vasari says, "must have 
descended from heaven to console man, for it never 
could have been painted on earth." Guillaume, of 
Marseilles, a French Domenican monk, was the 
artist. We saw also a shrine of marble, by Giovanni 



334 NOTES IN ITALY. 

di Pisa, celebrated for its Avonderful beauty, illustra- 
ting the life of St. Douato. A row of angels stand- 
ing in Gothic arches were especially beautiful. 

Santa Maria della Piere presents a very remark- 
able facade to the street. There are three open 
arcades, with columns that differed each from the 
others — fifty-eight of them; and one column, for 
lack of another form being possible, is a caryatid. 
The Campanile is lofty, with five series of little 
pillars. We intended to see Yasari's picture of St. 
George, though I cannot believe he is a great artist ; 
but it was veiled, and no sacristan appeared, and 
mass was being performed. 

The streets of Arezzo were paved with large, flat 
stones of different shapes, but all nicely joined, like 
those of the Flaminian Way, and it has been a rest 
to walk upon them, after the long torture of the 
pointed Eoman pavements. Honor to the Grand 
Dukes for this ! The chief street has been thronged 
all the afternoon with the citizens, in their best Sun- 
day array, children especially dressed gayly and 
trimly, like French children, with great bravery of 
crinoline and pinched waists. The public prome- 
nade, behind the Cathedral, is very pleasant, and 
commands a fine view. 

On Petrarch's house is a long inscription on a 
slab, recounting his birth and fame, and so on many 
other houses there are inscriptions concerning the 
illustrious persons who were born and lived in 
them. The air of Arezzo was wholesome, and crea- 



ROME TO FLORENCE. 335 

tive of great men, according to Michel Angelo, who 
was born at Caprese, near by. 

This great hotel was doubtless once a fine palace, 
by the relics of old grandeur which remain. There 
is no end to ghostly corridors and unexpected doors, 
sudden staircases and traps in the walls, arcades, 
lofty apartments and covert nooks. But it is " faded 
sj^lendor wan" now. And the style is also faded ; 
for we are less well served here than at any previous 
hotel on the route. Hitherto, we have been agree- 
ably disappointed in the inns and the fare. We 
have found them uniformly clean and comfortable, 
and excellent food provided. Indeed, from London 
to Rome, and from Rome to Arezzo, we have had no 
annoyance from Dogano, or anything, or anybody. 
There is not a thorn on the rose of our success. 




^^^ 



in. 

FLOKENCE. 

June 5tli. — We arrived here on the 31st of May, 
leaving Arezzo at six in the morning. We drove np 
the Yia Fornace, and stopped at this Casa del Bello, 
"which we had requested Mr. Powers to take for us. 
The portress said it was not taken yet, however, 
and so we proceeded to a hotel. In the evening 
Mr. Powers called to see us, and appointed an early 
hour in the morning for us to go and examine the 
apartment. We went to his studio, which is a suite 
of six or seven rooms, and he came across the street 
with us to the Casa del Bello (which is opposite his 
house), and we agreed to take it at once. It is a 
delightful residence. We have the first piano, which 
opens at the back upon a broad terrace, leading 
down into a garden full of roses, jessamine, orange 
and lemon trees, and a large willow-tree, drooping 
over a fountain in the midst. We have thirteen 
rooms on the one ^9m?zo, besides four kitchen-rooms 
beneath. The Casa is three rooms wide, and four 
deep — {five in one of the rows) — and we are, each 
one, perfectly accommodated, and each one can be 



FLORENCE. 337 

alone and remote from the others. It is the very 
luxury of comfort. I have selected the best of tlie 
three parlors for the study. It is hung with crimson 
velvety hangings, and the doors are draped in that 
graceful way they have in Europe ; and the windows, 
of course, are curtained, — for there is not a window 
on this side the ocean undraped, I believe. It has 
an ormolu table, two couches, four stuffed easy- 
chairs, candelabras, chandelier, and a Turkey carpet 
(an unusual grace). It gives upon the garden, and 
there is no sound but " bird-voices" that can reach 
it ; — the very ideal of a study, such as the " artist of 
the Beautiful" ought ta have, but which till now he 
has not found. ***** 

I am sitting in an enchanting boudoir, a gabinetto, 
* * * * The only light is through a glass door 
which opens upon the terrace. Green trees and 
shrubbery only can be seen as I sit, excepting small 
glimpses of sky and gold sunshine, and four or five 
busts, arranged along the side of the terrace. A 
thatched rustic bower is constructed in one part, 
with rustic chairs and tables, where one can read, 
write, and meditate. Down in the garden are other 
bowers, seats, and tables. A small, delicate rose- 
vine is trained over the iron tracery that guards the 
outer side of the terrace. In the centre of our piano 
is a drawing-room that can never be too warm ; for 
its only great window looks upon an inner court 
where the sun never shines. And we have a star to 
our servant ; for Stella is her name. 

15 



338 NOTES IN ITALY. 

On the first day I walked out, and saw the outside 
of the Pitti Palace, — a vast prison of a palace, grim 
and hard in its aspect. I saw also Benvenuto Cel- 
lini's Perseus, in the Loggia de' Lanzi. I had seen 
a fine cast of it at the Crystal Palace, and could 
hardly conceive that I stood before the original. I 
passed over a bridge, and saw other beautiful bridges 
spanning the Arno, and the city rising around; but 
I was very tired after the journey, and have stayed 
at home, since we have had a home again. I was 
amused to find I could rest in fifteen easy-chairs, 
disposed about the rooms. There were so many, 
that I was induced to count them. 

Our approach to Florence, toward the sunset, was 
perfectly lovely. It reposes in the hollow of many 
mountains and hills ; and its glorious Dome and 
Campanile, arched bridges and palaces, make a rare 
picture. The atmosphere was so clear that we saw 
the lofty Apennines pointing into the sky, and there 
was a purply-gold splendor over all. 

Mr. Powers is agreeably simple in his manners, 
with wonderful great eyes. In his studio, that first 
morning, I had hurried glimpses of a bust of Mr. 
Sparks, California, and Mrs. Ward, and a Psyche, 
Avith a butterfly as a jewel, clasping the bands of 
her hair — Proserpine, and many more, all of which 
I shall be truly glad to contemplate at leisure. 

June 6th. — After tea last evening, just at set of 
sun, we went out for a walk, and promenaded the 



FLORENCE. 339 

whole length of the Via Fornace, and my soles were 
greatly consoled by the broad flat pavement. All 
the world was in the street in the warm, rosy twi- 
light. At the end of the Via we came upon a bridge 
w^hich crosses the Arno, and a scene of varied beauty 
opened upon us. The river was smooth as plate- 
glass, and all of Florence that was near it ascended, 
or rather descended into the pure depths of the 
heaven beneath. It was not possible to tell where 
the immaterial city began and the material city 
ended. All the arches of the bridges became com- 
plete ovals. The thronging crowds, whether they 
would or no, became spiritual beings, with bonnets, 
hats, and crinolines ; and horses that could never be 
whipped nor be weary — and carriages that never 
would raise the dust — passed in glory below. On 
the sunset side were golden tints; but our way 
tended in the opposite direction, and we were soon 
swallowed up between tall houses on our quest of 
the Duomo. I had never happened to hear this 
Duomo described, so that I had not the slightest 
notion of it, and it struck me as an undreamed-of 
wonder. First the Campanile ! Campanile and 
cathedral both appeared to be covered with precious 
marbles — vast mosaics. As the inside of the church 

is quite plain, J declared that ''it was turned 

outside in." It was so late, we merely glanced within, 
but I had enough to do to look at the exterior. We 
walked entirely round it, as it is in the centre of a 
piazza, and so we gained an idea of its immense 



340 NOTES IN ITALY. 

size, as we cannot of St. Peter's, which is seen only 
on the front, and is also d^varfed by the vast square, 
on one side of which it stands. It is, besides, built 
of unornamented, buff travertine. This inlaying, or 
rather outlaying of various marbles in patterns has 
a gorgeously-rich effect. The forms of the building 
have also a Gothic diversity, though perhaps there 
is a certain regularity in the diversity which I did 
not at once detect. The windows are of Gothic 
shape, and full of painted glass, which U — , who 
has been inside, says is superb. All the doors are 
carved outside with heads of Bishops, Cardinals, 
Popes, and perhaps Grand Dukes. The dome is 
the largest in the world. I like to record the well- 
known fact, that when Michel Angelo set forth for 
Rome to build St. Peter's, he looked back at this, 
and said, " Like it I will not — better I cannot." As 
we walked round, the cathedral seemed to extend 
indefinitely, like a city in itself, enabling me to per- 
ceive its size most satisfactorily. 

I should not have supposed that a square tower 
could be beautiful ; but the Campanile is exceed- 
ingly so, — all in mosaic, like the Duomo, and nearly 
three hundred feet high. It rises alone, quite dis- 
connected from the cathedral, and is at the same 
time grand and beautiful. One of my peerless old 
masters, Giotto, was its architect, and he designed 
to have a flame-like spire on its summit. I do not 
know why it is not there ; for I think it would be 
better even than it is now, if it climbed into the 



FLORENCE. 341 

heavens like fire — thongli to add to it would be like 
"painting the rose," and certainly no one should 
dare to finish Giotto's work. As he left it, so let it 
remain. How can it have such indefinable grace — 
a straight tower as it is ? Giotto must have diffused 
his spirit through the stones and lines. One of its 
bells rang out as we passed — a deep, round, liquid 
sound, which immediately made me think of the 
bulbul's note. It was music, dropped through water, 
— a novel, peculiar, and a subHme tone, worthy of 
Giotto's Campanile. It was as if the great dome 
itself had rolled from the soul of its artist, a pure globe 
of melody, and dropped singing into the sea of space. 

The Baptistery is opposite the Cathedral, and I 
looked a moment at the gate which Michel Angelo 
said was worthy to be the gate of Paradise. I was 
well acquainted with the design from the admirable 
bronzed cast of it in the Crystal Palace ; but in the 
deep twilight I could not see it distinctly. 

We returned by the wa}^ of the Piazza del Gran 
Duca, and passed the Palazzo Vecchio, with i'-s 
strange old tower, bulging out near the top into a 
balcony. In fi'ont of it are statues, all colossal, and 
one of them is Michel Angelo's David, and there is 
a noble equestrian statue of Cosmo de Medici. It 
is a relief not to see P. M. after every name — ijost- 
masteVf as some one used always to read it. The 
Grand Dukes will be quite a pleasant change after 
the Pontifex Maximus. 

On another side of the Piazza are three lofty 



342 NOTES IN ITALY. 

arches of a wide, liigli loggia, close upon tlie Uffizzi 
Palace. Beneath it are statues. On the left of this 
magnificent Portico we entered the court of the 
Palace, through which the world passes to the Arno. 
Stately open arcades extend along on each side, 
which, by day, are filled with gay merchandise ; but 
at this hour they were empty and solemn, and sen- 
tinels were pacing up and down. It must be a nice 
place to shop, on a hot or rainy day. Between the 
arches are niches, in which stand marble statues of 
Florentine heroes, artists, statesmen, and poets ; and 
above are the halls, where we are to w^ander and 
muse on masterpieces of genius. 

As we issued from the dim shade of the court, the 
golden light and the transparent mirror of the Arno 
burst upon us like a symphony, and now our way 
was toward the west, still glowing, with one star 
brilliant over the central arch of a bridge, making 
the apex of an invisible pyramid. All being re- 
flected, there was also a pyramid below, each pointed 
f-j the star, so that the ovals of the arches and the 
pyramids were in a lovely struggle together. 

The Lung-Arno was lighted with gas along its 
whole extent, making a cornice of glittering gems, 
converging in the distance, and the reflection of the 
illuminated border below made a fairy show. No 
painting, and scarcely a dream could equal the 
magical beauty of the scene. Florence is as en- 
chanting as I expected. It is a place to live ai.d be 
happy in — so cheerful, so full of art, and so weU paced. 



FLOREXCE. J^fxi 

It is delicious weather to-day, and the air is full 
of the songs of birds. The merlins are in choir 
over against our terrace, in a wood of the TorrigianI 
Gardens. The marble busts, on their pedestals, 
seem to enjoy themselves in the bosky shade. The 
green lizards run across the parapet, and to exist is 
a joy. J. is drawing Pericles, in his little study, 
from a fine photograph of the marble of the Vatican. 
U. is reading Tennyson, looking moonj^ in white 
muslin. R. is playing with Stella, who is very good, 
though not as bright as a star. Mr. H. is luxu- 
riating down in the garden, buried up in roses and 
jessamine. " If the air stirs, it can only be by two 
contending butterflies," as Jean Paul says. 

Generally, in these palatial houses, there is a rez 
clmussce first, then an entresol, and then what is called 
the first ^*a??o, and so on to the top. In this is no 
entresol. We enter a great arched door into a hall, 
along which pots of flowers are set, leading straight 
into the garden, whose delicious green shrubbery we 
see through an open iron gate. On the left of the 
entrance is the lodge of the porter. Midway on the 
right is the great staircase, and farther on there are 
other rooms for servants and stores. The legend of 
this Casa del Bello is, that there was a chief of the 
house so beautiful — the handsomest man in Florence 
— that he acquired the sobriquet of II Bello. 

June 7th. — Yesterday I was interrupted in writing 
by the announcement of Mr. Powers. He made us 



344 NOTES IN ITALY. 

a deliglitful and edifying call, of more than two 
hours. He expounded his ideas of form, and said 
that color was nothing needful to expression. He 
seemed to think there were no good busts, except 
that of Caracalla, and he said Canova always mod- 
elled himself. 

June 8th. — "We have been to the hotel New York, 
to call on the Bryants — 

and afterward Mrs. Powers took me to see Casa 
Guidi, and the palace of Bianca Capella, the bronze 
boar, and other things. We crossed the Ponte de 
St. Trinita, and the Arno was pale green, yery grate- 
ful to the eyes after the yellow muddy color of the 
Tiber ; but I should not like to hear any one speak 
slightingly of the Tiber. 

June 8ih. — This day has been memorable by 
my seeing Mr. and Mrs. Browning for the first time. 
At noon Mr. Browning called upon us. -^^ -J^- * * 
His grasp of the hand gives a new value to life, re- 
vealing so much fervor and sincerity of nature. He 
invited us most cordially to go at eight and spend 
the evening, * * * ^ * and so at eight we 
went to the illustrious Casa Guidi. We found a 
little boy in an upper hall, with a servant. I asked 
him if he were Pennini, and he said " Yes." In the 
dim light he looked like a waif of poetry, drifted up 
into the dark corner, with long, curling, brown hair, 



FLORENCE. 1315 

and buff silk tnnic, embroidered \\\\X\ white. He 
took us through an ante-room, into the drawing- 
room, and out upon the balcony. In a brighter 
light he was lovelier still, with brown eyes, fair skin, 
and a slender, graceful figure. In a moment Mr. 
Browning appeared, and welcomed us cordially. In 
a church near by, opposite the house, a melodious 
choir was chanting. The balcony was full of flowers 
in vases, growing and blooming. In the dark blue 
fields of space overhead, the stars, flowers of light, 
were also blossoming, one by one, as evening deep- 
ened. The music, the stars, the flowers, Mr. Brown- 
ing and his child, all isombined to entrance my wits. 
Then Mrs. Browning came out to us — very small, 
delicate, dark, and expressive. She looked like a 
spirit. A cloud of hair falls on each side her face 
in curls, so as partly to veil her features. But out 
of the veil look sweet, sad eyes, musing and far- 
seeing and weird. Her fairy fingers seem too airy 
to hold, and yet their pressure was very firm and 
strong. The smallest possible amount of substance 
encloses her soul, and every particle of it is infused 
with heart and intellect. I was never conscious of 
so little unredeemed, perishable dust in any human 
being. I gave her a branch of small pink roses, 
twelve on the stem, in various stages of bloom, 
which I had plucked from our terrace vine, and she 
fastened it in her black-velvet dress with most lovely 
effect to her whole aspect. Such roses were fit em- 
blems of her. We soon returned to the drawing- 

15* 



846 NOTES IN ITALY. 

room — a lofty, spacious apartment, liung with gobe- 
lin tapestry and pictures, and filled with carved 
furniture and objects of vertii. Everything harmo- 
nized — Poet, Poetess, child, house, the rich air and 
the starry night. Pennini was an Ariel, flitting 
about, gentle, tricksy, and intellectual — but it rather 
disturbed my dream " of the golden prime of the 
good Haroun Alraschid," to have a certain Mr. and 
Mrs. E. come in, and then Mr. B. and his daughter. 
Mr. B. is always welcome to the eye, with his snow- 
drift of beard and hair, and handsome face ; but he 
looked too inflexible and hard for that society. The 
three poets, Mr. Browning, Mr. B., and Mr. Haw- 
thorne, got their heads together in a triangle, and 
talked a great deal, while Mrs. E. told me what an 
angel Mrs. Browning is ; and Mr. E. talked to Ada, 
who looked charmingly, in white muslin and blue 
ribbons — her face a gleam of delight, because she 
was so glad to be at Casa Guidi. Tea was brought 
and served on a long, narrow table, placed before a 
sofa, and Mrs. Browning presided, assisted by Mrs. 
E. "We all gathered at this table. Pennini handed 
about the cake, graceful as Ganymede. Mr. Brown- 
ing introduced the subject of spiritism, and there was 
an animated talk. Mr. Browning cannot believe, 
and Mrs. Browning cannot help believiDg. They 
kindly expressed regret that they were going to the 
seaside in a few weeks, siuce we were to stay in 
Florence, and hoped to find us here on their return. 
Mrs. Browning wished me to take U. to see her, and 



FLOItEXCE. 347 

Mr. Browning exclaimed, " You must send Pcnnini 
to see their boy — such a fine creature ! with eyes 
kindhng — Pennini must see him, and the little R., 
a dearest little thing." This I record for my chil- 
dren's sake, hereafter. 

Uffizzi and Pitti Palaces. 

June 9th. — To-day U., Ada, and I went to the 
Uffizzi and Pitti Palaces. I have now taken my 
first glance at the Yenus de Medici, Raphael's For- 
narina, Titian's Yenus, Julius Second, the Madonna 
della Seggiola and dell' Impannata. We were very 
deliberately going through with the Uffizzi, when we 
met Mr. Rothermel, who said that this was the only 
day when the apartments of the Grand Duke could be 
seen at the Pitti Palace, and he counselled us to go. 
It was now one o'clock, yet, having no conception 
what unheard-of splendors might be in store for us 
there, we concluded to brave the noon sun, and go. 
The loggie of the great court were hung with superb 
gobelin tapestries, and crimson silk and gold, and 
the balconies were draped with the same. One of 
the tapestries was Raphael's Heliodorus, filling the 
end of a loggia, as brilliant as color could make it. 
The story of Esther was on one w^hole side, and on 
the pilasters, between the open arches, were narrow 
groups, all of the gobelin arras. 

Besides the Great Cortile, there was another 
smaller one, entered by a corridor, which was adorned 
with tapestry of the same kind, and this little court 



34S NOTES IN ITALY. 

also blazed with reel and gold, and woven pictures. It 
was all good to behold, but Mr. Eothermel was 
mistaken about the ducal apartments, which cannot 
be seen till to-morrow, and so w^e returned to the 
picture galleries again. Yet no sooner were we 
there, than Mrs. Mountford came up to say that 
they were making a flower-carpet in the Great Court, 
which we must see in its first freshness, and, very 
grateful to her, we immediately hurried down. To 
be sure, twenty or more men were at work, weaving 
a wonderful tissue, composed of petals of flowers, 
and leaves of box. The pattern was carefully chalked 
upon the flat flag-stones, and the men were rapidly 
filling in the forms with separate colors. Each of 
their baskets contained petals of one hue, and they, 
being perfectly instructed in what they were to ac- 
complish, moved about, scattering blue, or red, or 
purple, or yellow petals in each defined division, so 
quickly and accurately, that Uke a vision, the gor- 
geous carpet soon was spread over the stones. Its 
life was preserved bright and fresh by the continual 
sprinkling of water from many watering-pots, which 
also made the petals heavy, so that the breeze would 
not blow them out of their places. The fragrance 
was delicious, and can anything be fancied more 
preciously beautiful than such a carpet ? for its eva- 
nescence, in this case, added to its value. Such pro- 
digality of richness just for a few hours — at the ex- 
pense of so much toil ! It w^as like carving and paint- 
ing for the Lord, with the single purpose of worship ; 



FLORENCE. 849 

for it was Corpus-Christi day, and tlie body of the 
Saviour was to pass over it — and the procession would 
inevitably destroy all tlie cunning workmanship. 
Thousands of wax-candles, in prismatic chandeliers, 
and in candelabras, placed in front of mirrors, with 
crystal pendants, were to light up the scene. As 
these chandeliers, composed of prisms, vibrated, they 
reflected the crimson tints of the surrounding silk 
hangings, and so looked like rubies flashing, even by 
daylight. 

I was sorry to find the Venus de Medici with so 
many other sculptures and pictures. I always thought 
it had been alone in the Tribune, or nearly so, with 
only Kaphael's Fornarina and Titian's Venus. But 
it is crowded, and its outline interrupted by all kinds 
of background. Yet its beauty equalled my hopes, 
and I can scarcely say more. It is not in such per- 
fect, unsullied condition as the Apollo, but is evi- 
dently an Olympian like him, and the dignity of a 
goddess is in her air. By a cunning art in the mod- 
elling of the eyes, a singular depth and in drawing 
sweetness is given to the expression, and an effect 
of motion, as from the action of long lashes, or the 
glimmering of water, — wholly unprecedented in any 
other sculptured eyes I have seen before. It gives 
an irresistible attraction to the face. At the same 
time the loftiness of her mien makes a too familiar 
approach impossible. The slight bend of the figure 
suggests the immortal curve of which Buskin speaks, 
while the erect line of the brow gives a commanding 



350 NOTES IN ITALY. 

aspect. Bernini has put on some of liis ranting 

hands, and the fingers are singularly contorted, 

bending in and out in an extravagant manner. He 

should never have meddled with anything Greek — ■ 

especially, he should never have touched the statue 

that 

" enchants the world." 

No cast or copy conveys any idea of it to the eye 
of one who has not seen it. Life, emotion, instant 
thought, vary it every moment, — a movement in per- 
petual rest. The soul of the artist must have been 
of kindred delicacy, or he could not have so clothed 
it with maidenly modesty. This modesty becomes 
a complete veil, and it is an evidence that the inward 
sentiment is all that is essential, and no outward 
condition whatever, to show the character ; — character 
— that mysterious entity that no covering can hide 
and no nudity expose, for it is a presence that 
nothing can modify. Now I have seen the most 
beautiful Apollo, the most beautiful Minerva, and 
the most beautiful Venus in the world. I have heard 
that the Yenus of Milo is thought more noble. But 
in the Yenus we want Beauty — not Nobleness — to 
predominate. Pure nobleness is for Minerva. The 
Goddess of Beauty certainly should win and enchant, 
not strike with awe, except that there must always 
be a degree of awfulness in such purity as this ex^ 
presses. But I have seen the Yenus of Milo in the 
Louvre, and she looks proud and not quite amiable. 
There is grandeur in her mien and a noble beauty 



FLORENCE. 351 

in her form ; but she has not an attractive, irresistible 
fascination. I looked at it for hours, and having 
heard that the motive of the design had not yet been 
discovered, I set about trying to find it out. I tried 
so vehemently, that for a long time I was wholly at 
a loss ; but suddenly glancing at it without purpose, 
I thought I plainly saw what the action was. As 
both arms are gone, it was at first difficult to per- 
ceive, but I am sure that she is taking the apple 
from Paris. There is disdain in her air and curled 
lips, that any question should have arisen concerning 
the pre-eminence of her claim ; and an assurance, 
also, that Paris would not hesitate. Easy, haughty 
triumph is in the attitude and look — almost a scorn- 
ful smile, which must have been highly exasperating 
to the irascible Juno. The moment I saw it all, I 
wondered that there could ever have been a doubt 
about the intention of the artist, and now I wish I 
could know, undeniably, whether I am right or 
wrong. She seems to be drawing back a little, while 
she extends her hand for the prize, as if she inwardly 
despised to accept the proof of so self-evident a 
thing as her superior beauty. The Yenus de Medici 
has more winning sweetness and unconscious charm, 
I think. 

I next searched for Eaphael's Fornarina, which I 
immediately found, and a man was attempting to 
copy it. How worse than foolish it is for any one to 
try to copy Raphael ! Always the touch divine is 
omitted — the soul, the meaning are not seized, and 



3-}3 NOTES IN ITALY. 

all are deceived by tlie copyists, wlio do not see the 
origiDal picture. This Fornarina exceeds my ex- 
pectations even, for, though I thought I should find 
rich beauty, I did not suppose, from copies and en- 
gravings, that there was such purity of expression 
in the exquisite mouth. The Fornarina of the Bar- 
berini Palace I never liked, as I have elsewhere re- 
corded. She is bold, saucy, and earthly, though 
not so full in form as this. This has a sumptuous 
fulness. The eyes are sweet and arch, the cheeks 
like pomegranates for richness of color, and it has 
the depth of hues of Titian or Piombo ; yet, with 
all the glory of tint and roundness of proportions, 
there is the delicacy and vernal sentiment of woman- 
hood, which Titian never attained, and Raphael 
alone fully rendered. In copies, I have thought it 
an entirely handsome person, rather robust and 
buxom. In the original, the face transfigures the 
rest. She is beautiful and lovable, spirited, warm, 
tender, and strong, glowing with Italian sunshine in 
perfect bloom. Of this wonderful picture the copy- 
ist was making a vulgar woman. 

After two nearly complete exhaustions upon these 
masterpieces, I was arrested by another, a Madonna 
with the Infant and St. John. It resembles Eaphael's 
early manner. There is a trace of Perugino in its 
color and expression, but it is Eaphael, and no 
other possible person who painted the picture. It 
is a sacred face of maternity — woman, without a 
shadow of earth upon her, with something of the 



FLORENCE. 353 

delicate tints of Fra Angelico's angels. The lids 
are cast down ; for her eyes rest upon the blessed 
Child. Her serene brow is like a cloudless dawn, 
and her pale gold hair around it like a faint, amber 
cloud, which the unrisen or invisible sun is suffusing 
with light. Not even the first of her seven sorrows 
has yet disturbed the peace of her lovely mouth. 
Titian's Yenuses, after this and the marble Venus, 
were really intolerable, positively disagi*eeable to 
me — nay, really indecent ; for they are not god- 
desses — not womanhood — not maternitv — not maid- 
enhood, but nude female figures. 

I did not really see anything in the Tribune this 
morning excepting the Yenus de Medici, the For- 
narina, Raphael's Madonna, and Titian's Yenuses. 
Oh yes ; I saw the Slave Whetting his Knife — a 
powerful, earnest, truthful form and face, but a 
singular subject for sculpture. It must have a sig- 
nificance not vet fancied or understood. 

I remember particularly to-day a marble bust of 
Lorenzo the Magnificent, which is monstrous in ugli- 
ness ; and afterward I saw an oil picture of him, 
equally repulsive. The face is clever, but very evil. 
A bold, bad man he looks to have been. How my 
dream of this prince is dispelled ! To be sure, the 
Medici were no princes, but doctors originally, and 
Sismondi gives no good character of Lorenzo ; yet 
I supposed him grand and comely in appearance. 
The degree to which ugliness culminates in these 
old civilizations is fearful and suggestive. Ages of 



354 NOTES IN ITALY. 

crime sometimes seem to be concentrated in one 
countenance. The baby Nero, liowever, whom I 
saw to-day, looked innocent, and opposite the infant- 
bust was the full-grown Emperor, revolting to be- 
hold, as if it needed but one life to develop the 
depravity. The inherited tendencies of the babe 
were doubtless downward, and his mother did not 
win him upward, but drove him deeper into sin as 
he grew older. Yet Nero, at his worst, looks like a 
great self-indulgent, pampered boy, while Lorenzo 
is, apparently, an incarnation of complicated, well- 
planned wickedness, and when only a week old he 
could hardly have had a sweet and guileless ex- 
pression. 

The Madonna della Seggiola surpasses entirely all 
the copies in oil and all engravings. An artist was 
at work before it, and had succeeded a little with 
the infant Christ ; but had wholly missed the young 
mother. In the faces of this masterpiece there is 
a singular pensiveness — not so profound and sub- 
lime as in the Dresden Madonna ; but a tender, 
meditative, shadowed sentiment — delicate, fine, and 
pathetic. Mary may be musing over the mysterious 
words of Simeon ; and the loving caress with which 
she bends her cheek to the child, and clasps him so 
closely, seems to express, " He is mine — take him 
not from me ! Let not that sword separate us, O 
Lord !" Yet there is also an all-absorbing content 
in the attitude and glance — a certainty of bliss sa 
great that the fear may arise that it cannot last. 



FLORENCE. 355 

There is far more prophecy of the worship of sorrow 
in the face of Jesus than in that of Mary, and the rap- 
ture of love in little John's eyes is suffused with tear- 
fulness. The babe is grand. In the Madonna is a 
penetrating sweetness that I believe I have seen in no 
other, though I had thought there could be no more 
complete expression of it than in some of his other 
Holy Families. This is sweeter than the sweetest, 
and distances all hope of imitation. Somewhere the 
drawing, the color, the life, fail in all copies. So 
many are the applicants to paint this picture that 
they are five years deep. Every day I grow more 
and more amazed at the genius of Haphael. It gets 
to be miraculous. This work transcends any power 
I possess of conveying it to the mind of another. 
My words seem poor rags, with wliich I endeavor to 
clothe the idea — heaps of rags — the more I trj^ the 
larger the heaps. At each separate one of his 
works I exclaim, " What ! another new face !" — 
wliich I instantly perceive must be Raphael's, yet 
as new as each separate soul is new, and unlike all 
other souls. Color, form, expression, grace — each 
equal to each, and all best. TMiat an eye, what a 
hand, w^hat a heart, and what an intellect must his 
have been, and how we know him at once, though 
there is no mannerism in his style ! We know him, 
because he is superior to all, and there is no fault. 
We may find some lesser or greater shortcomings in 
others ; but Raphael cannot be criticised. We only 
must be thankful that we have eyes to see what he 



856 NOTES W ITALY. 

has done, and some degree of capacity to appre- 
ciate it. 

Let me not forget to record, however, another 
wonder I met with to-day — Fra Angelico's Madonna 
a-nd Child, of life-size, surrounded with angels in 
choir. It is in three parts — a tryptich — and on the 
folding-doors are saints. The backgrounds are gold. 
The wreath of angels, each one with a different in- 
strument of music, and one, over Mary's head, with 
hands folded in prayer, are worthy of the holy Friar. 
I do not know in what he dips his pencil, unless in 
the rainbow ; but the robes of this celestial band are 
glorious in color : gold circles are round their heads, 
fretted with points that catch the light — a brighter 
gold than gold. Their hair is still another shade, 
and their instruments also are gold, ^nd their wings 
purple and crimson and azure, mingled with plumes 
of shining gold. The hues of their faces have his 
peculiar transparency and softness of tint ; and it 
must be the complexion of celestial beings, for there 
is no earth in it. The grace, splendor, and state of 
this garland of divine choristers give an idea of the 
heavenly world, which Fra Angelico alone reveals. 
The Virgin Mary sits in the centre, with the babe 
standing upon her knees, with both little arms ex- 
tended in blessing. From his fair face and blue 
eyes suns seem to radiate and actually dazzle. He 
is the Sun of Bighteousness, delineated with the 
pencil of a mortal saint, and this Sun is all made up 
of Love — good- will to man. How can any one be- 



FLORENCE. 857 

lieve in an angry, avenging Deity who looks upon 
this true revelation of the Father? How paltry are 
words in the presence of such an apocalypse of 
boundless grace to all ! Two artists were each 
copying an angel, and their backgrounds being fresh 
gold just laid on, showed how gorgeous the original 
picture must have been when first executed. When 
Fra Angelico first unfolded the doors of the tryp- 
tich, the beholder must have thought the heavens 
opened upon him, with the sound of sackbut, psal- 
tery, harp, and soft recorders, blown by the breath 
and touched with the fingers of glorious angels, in 
accompaniment to the world-wide blessing, that 
blazes in starry beams fi^om the countenance of the 
Express Image of his Father. 

At the Pitti Palace I saAv two Holy Families of 
Murillo, in his peasant style. One is quite the 
peasant — the other is somewhat transfigured, and 
the eyes are musing, absent, and dreamy — the ex- 
pression most pure and sweet. The child is a lovely 
little baby, but not the infant Christ. The " Bella" 
of Titian is rich in color, with a neck and bosom of 
exquisite beauty, but the Venetian school has, I 
think, no spirituality. It is all sense, with whatever 
sense can manifest of magnificence and sumptuous- 
ness — not one ray from heaven, however, by any 
chance. So my observation has been, thus far. 

June 10th. — We went to the Pitti this morning 
early, to see the tapestries in the great court, and 



358 NOTES IN ITALY. 

the wrecks, perhaps, of the flower-carpet ; and also^ 
if possible, the Grand Ducal private apartments. 
Nearly all the arras had been removed, and the 
flow^er-carpet was utterly gone ; but we gained ad- 
mittance into the palace : — first, into the Entrance 
Hall of Stuccoes, long, wide, and lofty — the walls 
and arched ceilings covered with stucco figures and 
ornaments of every device. In the centre, a door 
upon the right admitted us into another ante-room, 
equally lofty, and not so large, entirely painted in 
fresco by Porchetti (or Porcetti) ; but the custode 
did not tell us what subjects were illustrated. Now 
the guard took out his keys, and unlocked a door 
and ushered us into a bedchamber, high, but small, 
— the w^alls hung with satin damask of deep dahlia- 
red, illumined with lines of bright gold. The bed, 
doors, and windows were hung with the same mate- 
rial. It is a fine custom of these southern kingdoms 
to drape the doors with sweeping folds. It probably 
obtains all over Europe. 

The next room was hung with gobelin tapestry — 
one whole side a charming scene of gardening and 
husbandry, carried on by a troup of little genii of 
loveliest baby-forms and sweet faces, all full of earn- 
estness, and as busy as so many bees. They made 
labor soar and sing. The brilliant, fresh coloring, 
the careful drawing, and living expression of these 
tapestries amazed me ; for the softest, round cheek 
is rendered as by enamel-painting. Several apart- 
ments followed one another, filled with similar 



FLORENCE. 359 

beautiful hangiiigs — sometimes landscapes ; and one 
was particularly delicate in its aerial perspective. 
In England, and even in Home, the arras we saw 
was alwa3^s somewhat faded ; but these were as radi- 
ant as if this moment woven. Every room con- 
tained tables of Florentine mosaic, in pietra dura, 
as well as of the most precious marbles ; and superb 
cabinets of ebony, with small columns of oriental 
alabaster and of lapis-lazuli, and of the rare Blue 
John (which however is purple) — inlaid with flowers, 
birds, and shells, composed of pearls and gems, in 
infinitely varied devices, and with no end of beauty. 
Each cabinet differed from every other in form, and 
they -were of all varieties of substance. The flowers can 
never fade that are composed of jewels and marbles 
— lilies, passion-flowers, roses, jessamines, morning- 
glories, trailing in long vines with lapis-lazuli petals, 
forget-me-nots of turquoise, and other blossoms of 
earth, together with birds of the air, involved in grace- 
ful arabesques, winding and wreathing about. After 
the tapestries ceased, velvet and satin -dam ask took 
their place, so thick and solid that my hand could 
scarcely clutch it. It had the thickness and richness 
of Genoa velvet, with the sheen of the satin added — 
woven into flowers and leaves, like embossed work. 
Just fancy the walls made up of this gorgeousness, 
and full, trailing curtains at all the doors and 
windows. 

At last we came to the chamber of the Grand 
Duchess. The bed was hung with white satin, 



3G0 KOTES IX ITALY. 

heavily embroidered with gold — the satin seeming 
to be an eighth of an inch in thickness. The walls, 
windows, and doors were draped with light-blue satin 
and gold — as well as the chairs and couches. On 
the toiletj were candlesticks entii'ely of flowers in 
wreaths, in enamel. A chandelier of the same 
design hung fi'om the centre of the frescoed ceihng. 
A prie-dieu, near the bed, was inlaid with pietra dura 
and gems, and cushioned with white satin rayed 
with gold. But the dressing-room ! On a marble 
table, of Greek form, stood a small gothic-shaped 
glass, fi'amed in enamelled flowers. Tabourets of 
white satin, embroidered with flowers, stood against 
the walls, which were encased in azure damask. 
And so we went on, in splendid mazes lost, till we 
opened upon an ante-room or hall of audience, and 
then I supposed we were at the end. But behold ! 
the custode unlocked another door, and we began 
upon a suite of winter-apartments, which were 
caipeted. Oiu* feet seemed sinking in deep moss, 
and we ciTished down fresh blooming flowers at 
ever}- step. Hitherto we had walked over marble 
and inlaid floors. Xow, each room showed a new 
variety of cai'pet — a new color for gi'oundwork, and 
new designs elaborated upon it. In each was also a 
clock of some rare device. One was made entirely 
of gold and Blue John. Some were of gold and 
oriental alabaster, and all were clicking. One struck 
while we were near by, and it was like faiiy music. 
The cabinets seemed to become more and more 



FLORENCE. 361 

superb, and the tables riclier, as we went on. In 
the Grand Duke's bedroom hung the only oil j^aint- 
ing we saw, a Madonna by Carlo Dolce, a replica of 
the original one, in the Borghese Palace in Eome, 
entirely different from any other Madonna, very 
beautiful and highly finished. Wonderful eyes has 
the Virgin, with tender, deep shadows, as from long 
lashes. I liked it extremely at Rome, but this is 
more lovely still. IlIiq pine-dieu here was particularly 
exquisite, m Florentine mosaic, and one table in the 
room had marvellous groups of faces and figures, in- 
laid. Inlaying certainly can go no further than in 
this Florentine work. The walls of all the winter- 
suite were covered with satin and velvet damask — 
one was again entirely azure. At the close, we en- 
tered upon a hall surrounded with marble statues, 
in niches, where, I think, the custode said the Acad- 
emy of Arts hold meetings, and this opened upon 
a cabinet of antique sculpture — one Apollo there 
greatly resembling our friend the Count O'S. And 
now we had really finished the circuit. ^ ->^ ^ * * * 
At one o'clock I took U. and R. to Casa Guidi, to 
see Mrs. Browning. She does not see people till 
eight in the evening, but as B. is fast asleep at that 
hour, she requested me to come at one with her. 
"We rang a great while, and no one answered the bell, 
but presently a woman came up the staircase and ad- 
mitted us ; but she was surprised that we expected to 
see Mrs. Browning at such a time. I gave her my 
credentials, and so she invited us to follow her in. 

IG 



363 NOTES IN ITALY. 

We found the "wondrous lady in her drawing-room, 
very pale, and looking ill, yet she received us affection- 
ately, and was deeply interesting, as usual. She took 
B. into her lap, and seemed to enjoy talking to and 
looking at her, as well as at U. She said, " Oh how 
rich and happy you are to have two daughters, a 
son, and such a husband !" Her boy was gone to 
his music-master's, which I was very sorry for, but 
we saw two pictures of him. Mrs. Browning said 
he had a vocation for music, but did not like to ap- 
ply to anything else any more than a butterfly, and 
the only way she could command his attention was 
to have him upon her knees, and hold his hands and 
feet. He knows German pretty well already, and 
Italian perfectly, being born a Florentine. -^ * ^ 
I was afraid to stay long, or to have Mrs. Browning 
talk, because she looked so pale, and seemed so 
much exhausted, and I perceived that the motion of 
E.'s fan distressed her. I do not understand how 
she can live long, or be at all restored while she 
does live. I ought rather to say that she lives so 
ardently that her delicate earthly vesture must soon 
be burnt up and destroyed by her soul of pure fire. 
Soon after five I took R. to the Boboli gardens. 
They are open to the public two days in the week. 
We soon found a lake with swans, and R. did not 
wish to go a step farther, and so I sat down on a 
marble seat, while she watched the majestic crea- 
tures. The grounds extend for an immense distance, 
and include hill, plain and valley, groves, avenues, 



FLORENCE. 36t 

lawns, fountains, lakes, islands, statues, flowers, con- 
servatories — impenetrable shades and sunny open 
spaces — extensive views from the heights — temples, 
bowers, grottoes — in short, " enormous bliss" of 
every green, flowery, and bosky kind. They are the 
gardens of the palace, and have an entrance from 
the piazza in front, as well as this other entrance, 
nearer to our Casa del Bello. In the swans' lake 
was a rough rock, upon which sat a marble Ariadne, 
stretching out her fair arms wildly for help against 
a horrible green dragon, who was creeping out of 
the water on one side, while an enormous frog — 
probably antediluvian — was opening his jaws upon 
her from the other. •?«•** ^ -^ * 

June 12th. — We set forth for the Pitti Gallery this 
morning, and first went into Mrs. Powers' to leave 
B. for a visit. We found Mr. Powers, and had a 
very interesting call. He took us into all his many 
rooms, and gave us a great deal of instruction in the 
human face and form. I was surprised to find that 
he never models his ideal heads and statues in clay, 
but cuts them out of plaster, so that his models 
never crumble, and can be brought to any degree of 
perfection he chooses. He had a figure of Milton's 
Penserosa, with " looks commercing with the skies,'* 
of the heroic size, and very majestic and impressive 
— an extraordinary light in the eyes — a rai:)turous 
gleam, which one would not have supposed possible 
to give without the iris and the sheen of color. But 



364 NOTES IN ITALY. 

his belief and theory is that every effect can be given 
by pure form, and he seems to prove it very well. 
He has studied anatomy, and observed nature most 
carefull}^, and thinks he has found truth upon which 
to stand and work and expound. He says he not 
only can render the glance of the eyes, but indicate 
the direction of the beam, so that one can put one's 
self in the line of sight and meet the look. Perhaps 
we thought the iris was only a part of the smooth 
surface of the ball, and, to show us the contrary, he 
closed his lids and moved the iris back and forth 
beneath them, and we saw immediately that it was 
raised from the ball and moved, a perceptible globe, 
over it. Therefore, whenever the iris might be upon 
the ball, it would slightly raise the lid in that spot, 
and this should always be attended to in modelling, 
for it indicated the position and direction of the 
glance. He said, also, that the elevation or depres- 
sion of the lachrymal gland showed the way the eye 
turned, and he bade us look at his own. We saw 
that if he looked to the right, the little gland in the 
corner of the eye, next the nose, was higher in the 
right eye and depressed in the left, and that very 
seldom was this gland modelled at all, instead of 
being carefully distinguished. His own ideal busts 
proved his laws, all obeyed ; and, under the light of 
his expositions, it was very interesting to examine 
them anew. He told us also that the skin round the 
mouth was knitted over the lips in its own cunning 
way, separating the roseate color from the white 



FLORENCE. 365 

cuticle. This lie found iu nature, but never found it 
imitated in sculpture till lie did it himself. The ear, 
also, he said, was generally neglected, while it was a 
very beautiful part, when well formed ; and the ears 
of his own heads proved how exquisite it could be. 
W. S. had said that Mr. Powers had but one type, 
and there was no variety in his ideal faces and forms. 
I found this to be quite an unjust remark. There is 
an entire difference between them. Prosperine has 
a face tender and emotional, with the pure sentiment 
of womanhood — a little pensive, with prophecy of 
future sweet cares, blooming with changing rose- 
hues, affectionate, ready for tears and for smiles, — 
ideal girlhood, developing into higher experience. 
It is dewy, blushing, tendril-like in affections. A 
wreath of wheat is wound round her head, blending 
with the bands of hair, which are gathered in a rich 
knot, and then fall upon the neck. For such a 
daughter Ceres might well search with an immortal 
sorrow. 

Near by this is Psyche, a conception of pure soul, 
without relation to persons or time. It is eternal 
youth, and one cannot determine the degree of youth- 
fulness, because it is not young, but youth. The 
eyes look straight forward with a clear, serene, self- 
centred expression. They demand no sympathy 
or responsive, loving glance, like the soft, liquid eyes 
of Prosperine. They seem to look into the source of 
light without surprise and without blenching, lofty 
and steady. Her hair, folded on her brow in the 



8CG NOTES IN ITALY. 

Olympian style, is fastened there by a butterfly, like 
a jewel — emblem of the soul. It is a face neither 
pensive nor joyful, neither for smiles nor for tears, 
but superior to our regards and content in itself: 
not arrogant, but lofty ; not cold, but calm and col- 
lected, and soft only through perfect beautj^ and a 
plastic power. Such is Psyche. And Psyche differs 
again wholly from Diana, which is in the same room. 
Diana is of heroic size. She has the cold, distant air 
of a queen and goddess. She is not soul, but 
only a part of the soul — its chastity. A slight Hy- 
perion scorn is in her mouth. She is plainly the 
sister of Apollo, the Python-slayer. She has nothing 
to do wdth mortals, but is accustomed to hold her 
highw\iy among the courses of the stars, wdth the 
constellations for her maids of honor. She steps 
only on the adamantine floors of heaven, and her 
brow is caressed only by the blue ether, in fathom- 
less spaces above. Even now she turns aside her 
face with a fine and delicate disdain of what may 
meet her indifferent glance here below. She wears 
a coronet wdth stars and a crescent, and a richly 
sculptured baldric holds her drapery over her shoul- 
der. Who can say that Diana is like the Proserpine 
or the Psyche ? 

Eve looks primal. There is not one hour's expe- 
rience in her new soul, beaming out of her large, 
innocent eyes. I am sure she has not yet tasted the 
apple she holds in her hand, and knows nothing 
whatever about good and evil. But I did not ob- 



FLORENCE. 3G7 

serve Eve sufficiently to-daj^ and intend to see it 
another time. 

Mr. Powers showed us a machine in which he cuts 
and finishes the separate parts of his statues. If he 
wishes to elaborate a hand, he takes it off the arm, 
and puts it in a vice, and turns it to every light 
and point of view, and then fastens it again to tlie 
figure ; and so with each portion. He is a genius 
at mechanics as well as at sculpture, and has in- 
vented and made various tools, and machines for 
fashioning the tools, and for effecting manifold pro- 
cesses. He has made an instrument for scooping or 
punching a clearly cut hole in a thick piece of iron, 
in which he has concentrated sixty thousand pounds 
weight of power into his own individual amount of 
power ; so that by leaning upon a spike or pivot for 
a second, without perceptibly great effort, the hole 
is punched. This saves the time used for drilling. 
Enormous labor, expense, and time were all saved — 
I forget in what proportions. He has also invented 
a file or gTater, which frees itself perpetually from 
the clogging of the substance grated, so as to work 
clear, without trouble ; and this, he said, was " first- 
rate for culinary purposes," as well as for grating 
his statues. After exhibiting to us all his inventions 
and productions visible round about, he asked us if 
we had seen the little hand. No, we had only heard 
of it. So he brought out " the little hand" — the 
hand of his daughter Louisa, when five months old. 
All the hands of babies are pretty, but Louisa's is 



8G3 NOTES IN ITALY. 

peculiarly so. It bears the palm ; and lier father 
has carved a perfect fac-simile. It is outstretched, 
with lovely taper fingers, every nail rendered ex- 
actly, and the effect of the delicate skin given, with 
the folds over the knuckles, and the deep crease 
round the plump wrist. This little hand comes forth 
from a cuff, as it were — or ruffle of beautifully sculp- 
tured leaves, which fall back from it. 

I think we must have stayed more than an hour, 
yet we were not tired of it, though the Pitti was in 
store for us ; and it was after eleven when we arrived 
at the Palace. 

I saw to day, for the first time, the Madonna del 
Baldacchino of Raphael. I do not like the face of 
the Virgin so well as that of many others, but it is 
lovely, and the whole picture is a superb one — with 
saints and angels, and low in front the Chanting 
Cherubs, which Greenough so exactly copied in mar- 
ble. According to Mr. Mozier, of Home, Greenough 
never originated the slightest thing, but copied the 
antique, and embodied detailed descriptions of an- 
tique statues, now not extant, and put into marble 
painted figures, like these cherubs. Here are these, 
at any rate, perfectly familiar to me through Green- 
ough's group, which I saw so many years ago in 
Boston, and always supposed his own conception. 
No one ever told me they were copies. 

Mary sits enthroned, with the child, beneath a 
canopy or baldacchino, the folds of which are held 
back by two angels, floating above. Four fathers of 



FLORENCE. i]G9 

tlie Clnircli, two on cacli side, stand by the throne, 
and the Httle choristers are in the foreground. In 
tlie same saloon is a small and wonderful picture by 
Raphael, of the Vision of Ezekiel : " He rode upon 
a cherub and did fly." The Almighty is upborne by 
the mysterious, complex shapes. The effect of the 
whole is sublime, and I cannot tell how or why, ex- 
cept that Eaphael has rendered what the prophet 
saw, and we kindle to read. It is grand, vast, incom- 
prehensible, yet all comprised in a space no larger 
than this page (small letter-paper), showing that size 
is no necessary element of grandeur. Both this and 
the Baldacchino will be .good for study. 

To-day I saw also Michel Angelo's Three Fates ; 
and I needed more than one pair of eyes to gaze, 
for I had all my life wished to see it. An artist was 
copying it badly, which is a pity ; for his copy will 
deceive somebody, who will suppose it like the origi- 
nal. Mr. Emerson has a copy, but I cannot recall 
that vividly enough to compare it with Michel An- 
gelo's. The weird sister who stands in the middle, 
seemed to me to have a slight compunction in her 
mouth and eyes, but Mr. H. said she had not to him, 
and that " if she had, she would not be a Fate, but 
a Providence." I think the other two are pitiless 
enough, however. They are as hard as metal. One, 
she who holds the distaff, and has spun the thread, 
is crying out. Or I think she holds the distaff, and 
the central sister has spun the thread, which the third 
one is about to clip. I cannot help seeing a little 



870 KOTES IN ITALY. 

softness in the mouth of her who holds the slender 
thread af life. It is the clipper who looks merciless 
and stony. It seems as if the distaff-holder were 
enraged that the substance she has supplied should 
be wasted, and that the thread-holder regrets that 
the cunningly twisted filament should be snapped 
asunder. It is a work of mighty power and expres- 
sion, rendered with the same single regard to truth 
and indifference to comeliness, wiiich the great 
artist so often manifested. It reminded me of the 
statue of an old woman at the Capitol in Home — 
thought to be Hecuba or a Sibyl — an antique, and 
painfully like a despairing or oracle-mad old proph- 
etess, opposed to the usual tranquil Greek sculp- 
tures. 

Raphael's Madonna del Gran Duca, never seen 
out of the royal private apartments, except when 
some one is copying it, was visible to-day. She 
stands, holding the infant. Her face is fair, and 
more like Perugino or Fra Angelico in form, color, 
and expression, but yet unmistakably Raphael. 

Just as I was about leaving the palace, I dis- 
covered a Madonna adoring the Infant, by Perugino, 
one of the divinest I have yet seen by him. I shall 
have great profit and solace in that picture hence- 
forth. 

There is a large round table in one of the saloons 
of fabulous magnificence. The ground of the mosaic 
is lapis-lazuli, and on that rich substance every 
graceful flower and fancy is inlaid with precious 



FLORENCE. 371 

stones. So in a corridor running from one apart- 
ment to another are closed cabinets full of Venetian 
glass and ivory carvings of almost impossible deli- 
cacy ; and on the wall hang pictures composed of 
pietra dura — one the Pantheon at Rome — very su- 
perb — and two, representing great beauty of expres- 
sion and grace of form, in which the immitigable 
stone is made to flow, apparently, at the determined 
will of genius. 

This afternoon T took a carriage to make calls on 
the Lung'Arno, with Ada and the children ; but find- 
ing no one at home, we drove to the Cascine, the 
Hyde Park of Florence, and found it very delicious. 
It is outside the gates, and consists of long carriage- 
drives, deeply shaded with noble trees, lovely park- 
like groves, sunny lawns, fountains, and shrubbery ; 
and on one side afar mountains crowned with cities, 
and fringed with villages, and a delightful odor of 
flowers diffused through all. 

June 14th. — This morning we spent at the Uffizzi. 
We first sat down in the vestibule to look at the 
marble busts of the Medici which surround it. Alas ! 
what presentments ! Gaston, " smothered in his own 
wig," as Mr. H. truly said, has also a face and air in 
perfect harmony with the bravery of his wig — the 
truculent mien of a turkeycock — the head thrown 
back, the nose in the shape of a gallop — an immense 
assumption of importance, not borne out by any 
intellectual superiority. Lorenzo has none of this 



ST2 NOTES IN ITALY. 

pomposity ; but a very broad head, and an equally 
broad face, witli an expression of power, unscrupu- 
lousness, and complexity — ambitious, ignoble, and 
cruel. Leopold, son of Cosmo, is almost monstrous. 
From an admirable economy in nature, what should 
have been brain is, in Leopold, under lip, certainly 
the biggest I ever beheld in a white man, and as 
coarse as a negro's. There are two others who also 
have an Afiican coarseness of contour, and there is 
but one which is respectable in aspect — one Ferdi- 
nand. Such men as these ruled my beautiful 
Florence ! the flower of cities, the most highly- 
cultivated of communities, the very rose of civiliza- 
tion. Florence must have done very wrong to de- 
serve so severe a punishment. 

A few weeks ago the crypt of the Medicean chapel 
was opened, and the dead bodies of these grim 
prince-doctors were visible, because they had been 
embalmed. Conceive the idea of trying to preserve 
the dead bodies of such frightful-looking persons — of 
being anxious to keep forever that under lip, for in- 
stance ! I should have liked to see Lorenzo for a 
flitting instant, because he w^as so famous ; but I 
am glad, on the whole, that I escaped the ghastly 
show. 

The charming group of Silenus, with the infant 
Bacchus in his arms, stands in the vestibule, on one 
side the door. It is in bronze. I was acquainted 
with it in marble in the Braccio Nuovo of the Vati- 
can, and it is most beautiful, in whatever material — 



FLORENCE. 37} 

one of the antique masterpieces. Very finely- cat 
ancient bas-reliefs of marble are inserted in the 
walls of the room — noble, heroic, draped figures of 
Roman times. In an inner ante-room is the Medi- 
cean boar, and dogs and a marble horse, and busts 
of the Eoman emperors, old acquaintances of ours. 
Then we entered the long gallery of marble busts 
and groups, and specimens of the old oil-painters 
from Cimabue. Here we paused before Era An- 
gelico's Tryptich — the Madonna, surrounded by the 
Choral Angels. I found that there are two in a de- 
vout attitude over her head — one with hands joined 
palm to palm, the other -with arms crossed over the 
bosom. The artists were not arrived yet, and so we 
could not see the splendor of the new gold. On our 
return, however, they were painting, and they had 
commenced two other copies, one of them exceed- 
ingly beautiful. I should like to possess such good 
copies as these, and set up an angel in each room of 
our house. 

We remained a long while in the Tribune, and I 
saw there, for the first time, Michel Angelo's Holy 
Family. Mary sits on the ground, and is lifting the 
infant to Joseph, who is behind her. The child is 
grand, and Joseph is fine, but Mary is too plain 
and old. The noble Samian Sib}! of Guercino is 
there also, with the head raised, and turned over 
the right shoulder. A man was making a perfectly 
incorrect copy of it. The lovely Venus de Medici 
maintained her state, notwithstanding Mr. Powers' 



S:4 NOTES IN ITALY. 

censure of her face and head. He says she has the 
face of an idiot ! and certainly the casts seem to 
have. But the marble is not so. The profile view 
is sweet and delicate, and fitly surmounts the unsur- 
passed beauty of the form. 

The Madonna of Sasso Ferrato, with downcast 
lids, and a blue nun-like mantle over the head — so 
much copied and engraved — called the Virgin of 
Sorrows, I saw at last as originally painted, as well 
as the Magdalen of Carlo Dolce^ so much liked, 
with upraised head, holding a vase to her breast. 
But there is a singular metallic finish and tint in 
Carlo Dolce's paintings, which I do not like. T]iey 
are coppery, brassy, or silvery and golden, and 
sometimes irony — but the shadows are not trans- 
parent, and he is too Dolce generally. This Mag- 
dalen, however, is not dolce, though dark and 
metallic. I like nothing that I have seen of Carlo 
Dolce entirely, excepting the Madonna in the Grand 
Duke's bedchamber at the Pitti Palace. That is 
rare and exquisite, with a noble expression. Titian's 
celebrated Flora is in the same room — a maiden 
with flowing auburn hair, a loose, white Greek dress, 
and flowers in her hand. Her complexion is very 
fair and luminous ; but the face is disagreeable, 
like many of Titian's ladies' faces, while his por- 
traits of men are gracious and agreeable. 

To-day is distinguished by my first seeing Niobe 
and her children, arranged round a vast hall — the 
very original marbles. They were found just out- 



FLORENCE. . 375 

side one of the gates of Rome. The dying son is 
very beautiful, as well as the daughter, who is look- 
ing down upon him — or who ivas — for they are sep- 
arated now. The light in the hall is not good for 
sculpture, and these noble forms are at great disad- 
vantage, and we did not stay long to-day to study 
them. 

Two very large rooms are filled with portraits of 
artists, where one can see face to face all who have 
ever had a name. At this time I looked at Bubens, 
Eembrandt, Raphael, Michel Angelo, Titian, and 
Mengs. The portrait of Raphael shows the utmost 
delicacy and grace of soul. All the copies and en- 
gi'avings fail here as usual. It is said that Raphael's 
eyes in this picture were once blue and the hair fair, 
and that the cleaners have retouched them and 
made them dark. This is proved true by the por- 
trait of him by his contemporary, Pinturicchio, in 
the library of the Siena Cathedral. That has golden 
hair and blue eyes. So that this Florence picture, 
by himself, has been shamefully spoiled, and we 
see only his drawing, and none of his coloring. 
Picture-cleaners are often the destruction instead of 
the restorers of works of art. But the beauty of 
these hues has not been interfered with. 

In a small cabinet of sculpture, is an unfinished 
head of Bnitus — Marcus Brutus — by Michel Angelo, 
with a countenance of stupendous force of expres- 
sion and careful thought. There is also here his 
first attempt in marble at fifteen years — a satyr's 



87G NOTES IN ITALY. 

head or a mask — by no means lovely. Near by is a 
colossal head of Alexander the Great — grand, and 
expressive of wild grief and disturbance. " I think I 
know his face w^ell now, for there are several busts 
of him at Rome, and a resemblance runs through 
all. In the hall of Portraits, stands the Medicean 
vase, upon which is carved, in relief, the Sacrifice 
of Iphigenia, which I so long ago admired in en- 
gravings. It is a good deal injured, and much 
larger than I supposed. 

June 17tli. — We celebrated this day by going to 
the Academy of Arts. We went into the first gal- 
lery through a hall of casts, none of which detained 
us long. The paintings of the Academy are all by 
the great masters, except a few by Andrea del Sarto, 
the Florentine. We first looked at an Adoration of 
the Magi, by Gentile da Fabriano. The faces and 
figures are all admirable, many of them beautiful, 
the coloring gorgeous, and made actually to shine 
by real gold embroidery, gold-hilted swords, em- 
bossed gold crowns that glittered with gems, rings 
and brooches and bracelets of gold, set with jewels ; 
and the gold is gold and not a semblance. I sup- 
pose this is a questionable license in art, but the 
effect was sumptuous. 

Mary is lovely, and the majestic babe stoops over 
an aged king, who kneels to kiss his little foot, and 
blesses the venerable potentate, bristling and crink- 
ling with gorgeous brocade, by placing his hand 



FLORENCE. 377 

upon liis head. Wonderful is the dignity and sweet- 
ness of the grand infant's countenance. One of the 
kings is young, and stands in the centre of the group, 
with a handsome face — perfectly magnificent in cos- 
tume, and with that expression of true devoutness, 
found only in the old masters — a look of entire self- 
surrender to an absorbing religious sentiment, ac- 
companied with a peculiar bend of the head, in which 
are worship, gentleness, submission, and serenity. 
Behind the young monarch stands Gabriele da 
Fabriano himself, in a red turban — a portrait — his 
broad, earnest face expressive of much interest in 
gazing at the kneeling king at Mary's feet. Gold 
and jewelled cups, attendants and officers, crowd the 
scene. In the upper part of the picture this splen- 
did throng is represented winding its way up into 
the town of Bethlehem, like a distant rainbow. 

A Descent from the Cross, by Era Angelico, 
highly finished — the colors as bright as if just 
flashed from a prism — attracted me, like all his 
works, by its delicacy of conception and reverent 
feeling. An Assumption, by Perugino, called one of 
his masterpieces, is distinguished by four figures 
standing below — three saints and the archangel 
Michael. St. John Gualberto is in the habit of a 
Cardinal, the red hat upon his head, and tied under 
his chin — the head bent a little. The face is full of 
living thought and feeling, and a vast serenity — the 
attitude exceedingly graceful, with a sort of heavenly 
grace, rather than the grace of the drawing-room. 



3T8 KOTES US' ITALY. 

St. Benedict is next, looking np in ecstasy. Both 
these saints prefigure Raphael in expression, dig- 
nitv, and sentiment ; but Baphael always went be- 
yond his master in perfection of execution. His 
outlines are never hard, nor his coloring opaque, as 
Perugino's often are. The archangel stands, lean- 
ing upon his shield (or rather resting his hands 
upon it, for his figure is erect), looking out of the 
picture. There is what Mr. Powers would call *'the 
royal eye" — the glance that does not meet one — 
that passes over, through and away — calm, closed 
lips, an air of princely command, and the celestial 
imponderability, which Perugino and his compeers 
knew how to give to their angels and archangels so 
astonishingly. He wears his heavenly corselet, and 
his limbs are clasjDcd in ruby mail ; a helmet of 
precious metal is upon his head — glorious — re- 
sembling that of Perugino's St. Michael, in the Lon- 
don National Gallery — and what a miracle is hero 
accomplished ! The three mortal saints are heavy 
with human experience and suffering, and, though 
they are holy men, the weight of mortality presses 
them down, while in the form and countenance of 
St. Michael is no trace of care, and there is a bird- 
like lightness and airiness of tread and motion, as 
if he were the insubstantial breath of God. And 
we cannot detect in any line or tint the manner in 
which this is brought about. Genius alone could 
not effect such a marvel, I think ; but Perugino, 
through religious sympathy and aspiration, and un- 



FLOJIEI^TGE. 379 

conscious simplicity and singleness of aim, always 
won the heavenl}^ hierarchies to his studio, " in 
order serviceable," for portraiture. 

A Deposition, by Filippo Lippi and Perugino to- 
gether, is also a grand picture. Two angels, one on 
each side the Eternal Father, who appears above, 
are in the noblest manner; their beauty is perfect 
and grand. They look dovm, and fold their hands 
before the Supreme Deity. What is remarkable in 
these faces is a blending of mute, profound worship 
with imperturbable quiet. Not even the presence of 
God disturbs their repose. His effluence flows 
through and through their transparent being, and 
fills the pure chalices of their lily souls. One is in 
a white robe, and I wish I could make this flower of 
heaven bloom to eyes that cannot see it here ; but 
language will not avail. Therefore, what am I to 
do about an Entombment, still by Perugino, and I 
am constrained to say more powerful to me in senti- 
ment than any other, though I have already seen 
so many that baffle my faculty of describing ? 

Directly beneath an arch sits the Yirgin Mary ; 
across her knees lies the dead body of Christ, his head 
supported by St. John and his feet resting upon 
Mary Magdalen's lap. Nicodemus stands on one 
side, and Joseph of Arimathea on the other. It is 
a long and rather narrow canvas. The head and 
face of Christ rest directly against the head of St. 
John, whose hands are beneath the arms of Jesus. 
John looks out of the picture, with eyes full of a 



se-0 JSiOTES m italy. 

mighty sorrow, as if they demanded of all the world 
whether ever before on earth were so grievous and 
sad a sight as this of his murdered Lord. His lips 
tremble with the brimming woe. The expression is 
a little startled, but amazement is overcome with 
tender deprecation. The contrast between the 
troubled gaze of John and the immovable calm of 
the dead face, beautiful in death, with a broad light 
on the brow and lids, is grand. Mary Magdalen 
sits, her hands clasped, her eyes fixed upon the life- 
less limbs, wholly absorbed in that piteous spectacle, 
forgetful of the world, of the mother, and of John, 
remembering only and seeing only that Jesus is 
dead. I do not remember that she had beauty or 
grace, or any entrancing golden hair, or rich robe ; 
but her face draws the soul of the observer with 
irresistible attraction, on account of the sentiment 
pervading it. What can be said of Mary adolorata? 
The grief of all the bereaved mothers since Eve is con- 
centred in hers. She turns her head aside, for she 
cannot look at her crucified Son, and she does not 
care to look at anything else, so that her gaze is 
impersonal. She is conscious of the heavy weight 
of the beloved form ; but she cannot weep more. 
Her grief is deeper than tears now, and she asks for 
no sympathy and wishes to hear no word. The 
sorrow of the others is measurable ; but this 
mother's sorrow no plummet can sound, and no one 
can comfort her. She becomes majestic from her un- 
approachableness of emotion. Nicodemus lifts his 



FLORENCE. 381 

ej'es upward. Joseph contemplates tlie rest ; and 
the central point is the dead face, in sublime repose. 
The Worship of Sorrow and the Triumph of Love 
are both begun here. It is a divine poem on the 
theme of Love faithful unto Death — of the heart- 
writhing pain of bereavement, which is tribulation for 
a time, though for an eternity there will be joj. 

On the other side of the room is the Eternal 
Father, by Carlo Dolce. Fancy a delicately colored, 
feminine, weak, absolutely foolish head, more feeble 
than the weakest attempts at the head of Christ, 
appearing to sink through the clouds from help- 
lessness. And this Carlo Dolce conceived as the 
Almighty ! It is truly laughable — but exquisitely 
painted. 

In a small cabinet are many little pictures, from 
which two come out eminent — an Entombment, by 
Fra Angelico, and a Last Judgment, also by him. 
The Entombment seemed to me his greatest work ; 
Ijut I cannot describe it noAV. 

June 19th. — This morning we went to the Church 
of St. Lorenzo, to see Michel Angelo's monumental 
sculptures. The church is undergoing repairs within 
and without, and heaps of rubbish were all around. 
Upon entering, I was very much disappointed in tlie 
general effect of the interior. Indeed, it is difficult 
to be reconciled to the plain walls, after being ac- 
customed to the magnificent mosaics of marbles in 
all Roman churches. But along our journe}^ from 



382 NOTES IN ITALY. 

Home we found the walls bare; and in Florence 
they are so likewise, so far as I have yet seen them. 
On our return — no, on our way from the Academy 
of Arts, the other day — we went into the Duomo. 
It seemed very small and dismal after St. Peter's — 
covered inside with pietra serena, a pale, brownish 
stone, grave and sombre — with no mosaic pictures 
to glorify the arches, and no chapels in the side- 
aisles. The pavement is composed of beautiful 
marbles, but is so dim and soiled that one can 
hardly see them. It is a relief, however, to find 
none of Bernini's tornadoes of saints, vexing the 
quiet atmosphere at every point ; and there are 
scarcely any monuments or statues. Behind the 
high altar, in so dark a shadow that it is nearly im- 
possible to see it, is an unfinished Pieta, by Michel 
Angelo. It is very curious to see how he left his 
works, after expressing the idea. It seems as if he 
grew impatient at the slow process of chiselling the 
marble, as he was of the slow process of painting in 
oils. Fresco-painting, I suspect, suited him best, 
because he could dash it off, and find an instant re- 
sponse to his thought. I tried hard to see the Pieta, 
but could only discern an outline of the design, 
which was grand. 

The dome is really larger than St. Peter's, but it 
appears to me smaller. It is covered with frescoes, 
which I could not distinguish ; but they are not con- 
sidered good, and it is conjectured that the Floren- 
tines will whitewash them, as Assisi whitewashes 



FLORENCE. 383 

better things. The Duomo has, however, somethiii!:^ 
that St. Peter's has not, and this is painted windows. 
The}' are narrow, but very superb, and light comes 
only througli the faces and forms of saints, angels, 
and prophets, robed in rabies, sapphires, emeralds, 
and gold, glowing — sparkling at one view Avitli 
points of light, and at another wdth broad efful- 
gence. There should never be a window in any 
temple erected for worship, without painted glass, I 
think. It ought to be as much a matter of course 
as to have walls and roofs. It is poetically just that 
the Life of Christ and its consequences, which are a 
flowering out of blessed and holy men, should alone 
be the medium of light, making it glorious. It is so 
inspiring to look up and see a divine face, radiating 
a splendor of love, praise, and tender devotion, 
amidst prismatic hues ; as if the natural garments of 
the ascended spirits were the pure colors of which God 
makes the rainbows, or as if the White Bay, ema- 
nating in concentrated unity from the countenance of 
the Creator, had broken into the seven colors, in 
flashes of rapture, to enrobe His obedient children. 

There is an interesting picture of Dante on the 
Avail, — an authentic portrait. He is standing, with 
hell on his right hand, Florence on his left, and 
Paradise behind him, — the seven heavens being 
represented by seven circles, rising like steps, " very 
much in the shape of a beehive," Mr. H. suggested. 

Giotto is buried in this cathedral, and a bust of 
him is placed over his tomb. 



384 NOTES IX ITALY. 

Now I return to St. Lorenzo's. There is, on tlio 
left of the high altar, a very large fresco, by Bron- 
zino, of the Martyrdom of St. Lorenzo, a youthful 
figure, surrounded by a throng. But I never care 
to look twice at Bronzino's pictures. On each side 
the altar are ancient, oblong pulpits, supported 
upon columns of various marbles, and covered by 
bronze bas-reliefs. 

At last we found the chapel designed and adorned 
by Michel Augelo, It is perfectly plain, ^vith white 
walls and four arched recesses. In one is the tomb 
of Lorenzo ; in another, of Giuliano ; in another, of 
the father of the reigning Grand Duke, Ferdinand 
III. ; and in the last, sitting statues of St. Damian 
and St. Cosmo, and the Yirgin and Child, an un- 
finished group by Michel Angelo. The statue of 
Giuliano de Medici is very life-like and spirited, 
and the grand Day and Night at his feet make his 
monument illustrious ; but the chef-d'oeuvre of genius 
is the figure of Lorenzo, sitting opposite. He is 
resting his chin upon his left hand, the forefinger 
on his upper lip. The right hand is upon his right 
knee, and the palm is turned outward. There is a 
wonderful expression of abandonment to profound 
meditation in this position of the hand. His face is 
deeply shaded by his helm, a most graceful and 
heroic head-dress, and it is pressed down far over 
his brow. He wears a sort of Greek armor, covering 
his whole person, except a small portion of the knees ; 
and Michel Angelo seems to have refrained, in this 



FLORENCE. 385 

almost solitary instance, to mark tlie muscles in his 
usual pronounced way. He lias transferred all that 
expression of physical power and feeling to the ex- 
pression of intellectual power and feeling, which is 
certainly vast. It becomes no longer a marble 
image, but a conscious heroic prince and leader, 
absorbed in mighty purposes and cares of state, 
anxious for his people. He breathes most thought- 
ful breath, and his heart seems to throb with large 
emotion. To me there is a look of terrible per- 
plexity, fearful trouble ; but far beyond personal 
considerations. Perhaps Michel Angelo had no re- 
gard to the private character of Lorenzo, which 
history says was excessively bad (he was the son 
of Piero, grandson of Lorenzo the Magnificent), but 
carved out an ideal father of his people. Or perhaps 
Lorenzo w^as an archangel ruined, and not a weak 
sinner, and could not err without an infinite remorse. 
At any rate, there he is — the most potent, the most 
fascinating, the grandest human life in marble yet 
portrayed, in which the stone is no obstruction, but 
only a fit medium of disembodied thought. The 
helmet, and the recess in which he sits, make his 
face very dark. It may add to the efi'ect of intro- 
spection ; but I should like to see it more distinctly. 
In the Crystal Palace there is an admirable cast of 
it, which we liked better than anything else there, 
though it was only in plaster. At his feet, upon the 
sarcophagus, repose the colossal figures of Morning 
and Evening, as they are called. Morning is not 

17 



386 NOTES IN ITALY. 

finislied, but, so far, is very serene and noble. There 
is great anxiety and trouble in the face of the female 
figure, and I do not know why Evening should look 
disturbed, nor why it should be so old. Evening is 
perfectly finished, as well as Night opposite ; while 
Day is merely blocked out, and looks over his huge 
shoulder dimly, like a clouded sun rising over a 
mountain. 

This plain, small chapel is called the Capella dei 
Depositi. Up-stairs is the Medicean Chapel, which 
Ferdinand I. intended for the reception of the Holy 
Sepulchre, when he should obtain it from Jerusalem. 
It is octagonal, surmounted with a dome, brilliant 
with frescoes by Benvenuti. The walls are entirely 
covered with the richest marbles ; and lapis-lazuli, 
agate, chalcedony, and jasper, and even precious 
stones, are inlaid in them also. The ducal coronets 
of the several princes, glittering with gems, repose 
upon cushions, embroidered with jewels, each upon 
its sarcophagus of antique marbles. The escutch- 
eons are magnificently elaborated with these pietre 
commessi e dure^ of their natural colors, so that the 
Florentine mosaic differs essentially from the Roman, 
in which smalto is used, — a kind of hard enamel, 
artificially composed. But with all this painfully- 
wrought splendor, what a mere gewgaw is the Medi- 
cean Chapel compared to the Capella dei Depositi ! 
Genius and character make paltry all the shining 
show, and, do what the Medici would, one looks 
with more interest upon a half-formed, rough-hewed 



FLOEENCE. 387 

limb by Michel Angelo tlian upon all tlie cold pomp 
A\ itli which they have emblazoned their burial-place. 
We did not stay long there, but returned to the 
Sagrestia Nuova, where Lorenzo sits ; and after 
another long contemplation of him, and of the 
Virgin and Child, we looked again at the church. 
The nave has two rows of noble pillars, which, I 
doubt not, belonged to the original basilica, which 
was ruined by fire. It is always a mystery to me 
how these stone edifices were so often destroyed by 
fire. What can burn ? We w^alked all round ; but 
there was not one fine painting in the shrines, and 
the sacred quiet of the cloisters is quite scared away 
by modern and secular dwellings. 

In the piazza is a sitting statue of Giovanni di 
Medici, the founder of the family. It has a remark- 
able head, and looks worthy to begin a race of 
heroes. But his posterity was far enough from 
heroic. 

We then went to the Baptistery, a very small Pan- 
theon, and once lighted by an open eye in the dome 
like that, but now it is dark, till the eyes become 
owlish. It was anciently the Temple of Mars, and 
is surrounded with oriental granite, Corinthian col- 
umns, the capitals gilded, supporting an arched 
balcony, a beautiful arcade. The dome is covered 
with old mosaics. On one side the Saviour, of 
colossal proportions, sits as judge. The feet are 
frightfully grotesque in all the details. The pave- 
ment is of inlaid marbles, and in the centre of it 



388 NOTES IN ITALY. 

once stood the font broken by Dante, when rescuing 
a child from drowning. Marble saints stand round 
in niches, and men were to-day arranging candelabra 
at the feet of each one, to be lighted at the festival 
of St. John, next week. That is a great day in 
Florence, and there will be illuminations and pro- 
cessions also. The Baptistery is the Church of St. 
John, and all the baptisms in Florence are admin- 
istered here still. Its chief charm to me is the Gate 
of Paradise, by Ghiberti. The more I see it the 
more enchantingly beautiful I discover it to be, and 
I wish Westmacott would not twaddle so about bas- 
reliefs as he does. I do not agree with him at all ; 
but when Academicians get hold of a rule they stul- 
tify themselves by holding to it, against all the in- 
tuitions of genius. Each part of this peerless gate 
surpasses the other parts. The single figures round 
the framework, among whom I recognize Miriam 
with her timbrel, Judith, and other well designated 
persons, seem best of all ; and, outside of these, the 
borders of flowers, fruits, and animals are so per- 
fectly true and lovely that nothing can be so good 
as they ; and then we come to the eight compart- 
ments, containing sculptured events of the Old Tes- 
tament. The Fall of Jericho is marvellous in force 
of expression and grace of figure and movement. 
Can anything be better? And so of each one. 
Such delicate exactness and fidelity of finish satisfies 
one's soul. After this, an hour and a half at the 
Uffizzi concluded our pleasant labors for the day. 



FLORENCE 389 

June 27tli. — I have not written here for a long 
time, and now I must gather up my sheaf of memories 
■ — my golden sheaf — as well as I can. On that day 
at the Uffizzi I particularly lingered in the Tribune. 
I thought I recognized in one of Titian's Yenuses 
the face of his " Bella" in the Pitti. It is a very un- 
attractive face, with no delicacy nor tender sweetness 
nor virgin modesty in either picture. Titian did not 
seem able to paint innocence and purity, and ap- 
parently had no acquaintance with those states of 
being. The perfection of the coloring of that Yenus 
of the Tribune, however, fascinates one's eyes. It 
is life itself. It is such a' wonder how he did it, that 
we gaze in the vain endeavor to discover his secret, 
and I suppose we might almost as well succeed in 
creating the petal of a flower as in imitating his 
breathing tissues. 

I do not know what is wanting in me, but I can- 
not like Correggio's famous Adoring Madonna. Just 
compare it with Perugino's in the Pitti ! One is 
divine and the other earthly. A girlish rapture is 
in the face and action of one, and in the other the 
grave, ineffable tenderness of ideal maternity, the 
sense of a priceless gift of God, the surprise at a 
new soul, and a prophecy of something to come, not 
yet fully comprehended — something heavy as the 
conscience, but sweet, precious, and eternally dear. 
There is more softness in the lines of that face 
than is usual with Perugino. As regards Cor- 
reggio, my eyes may be now holden, and I may 



390 NOTES m ITALY. 

in time see the cliarm of liis rendering, but now I 
cannot. 

I searched for the Bacchus which Michel Angelo 
sculptured in imitation of the Greek, and then 
buried, having first broken off a hand. The storj 
is well known. The Bacchus is in a state of inebri- 
ation. He holds up a cup and is crowned with 
grapes, and his countenance is full of jollity and 
folly. It is not the Olympian Bacchus, the fairest 
of the gods, who stands with Ampelos in one of the 
halls of the Uffizzi, all beauty, grace, benignity, and 
gay, eternal youth ; but it is a strong figure, given 
over to wine and fun ; though I have no right to say 
anything about it till I have seen it more. 

In the portrait-hall, I looked at the magnificent 
Leonardo da Vinci. It is covered with plate-glass, 
as very precious, and the painting has become quite 
obscure. JBut the grand drawing of the head and 
face is well visible still. The beautiful Baphael hung 
in its place. He looked like a dove among crows, 
side by side with those bearded, mustachoed, dark- 
hued men. Such a pure, clear brow ; and cheek 
and chin '^ clean as Apollo's" (as Mr. E. said of his 
brother Charles's), and the graceful swan-throat 
which no man ever had before or since — as I am well 
persuaded — these the cleaners have not ruined, 
though they have hidden the blue eyes and golden 
hair beneath their black pigments. 

An antique Bacchus in the cross-gallery I observed 
for the first time. The delicate lithe figure is in a 



FLORENCE. ^91 

fine strain of excitement, dancing with all his life — 
light as a breeze and airily mad. The marble will 
not hold it long, I thought. 

On the 21st June it was sultry and threatened 
rain, but we ventured to rush to the Pitti before the 
storm broke loose, and it is so near us, that we ar- 
rived safel3\ In five minutes came a tornado and a 
thunder-crash, and it rained floods for more than 
three liours. Part of the time the lowering clouds 
made it too dark to see the pictures well ; but it 
brightened enough to allow us a pretty good study. 
A Holy Family by Rubens delighted me. It is not 
at all Mary and the Christ, but it is, however, a most 
beautiful group, more refined and soft than Rubens' 
usual manner. The mother, a handsome Flemish 
lady of brilliant complexion and matronlj^, benign 
expression, stands in the centre, looking down upon 
the two babies, an enchanting little pair. Christ 
(or one baby) is in a cradle, just raising himself by 
his left hand, while with the right he caresses the 
cheek of the other child, meant for John — who, with 
both hands folded, gazes upon him with a rapture 
of love. The children are lovely peaches in color, 
and not so rotund and bouncing in form as is usual 
with Rubens. An unwonted delicacy then alighted 
upon his pencil. Elizabeth holds John's little hands, 
as she stoops behind him, and Joseph looks down 
over the cradle. It is not the family divine, but it 
is a noble, charming family, in Rubens' highest style. 

I mused a long time over Perugino's Adoring Ma- 



393 NOTES IN ITALY. 

donna, wliicli grows upon me tlie more I study it ; 
and a Deposition by him, a very large picture, I saw 
for tlie first time on Monday. I like it all exceed- 
ingly except the face of Christ. The Marys are 
w^onderful in varied expression. As to Titian's 
Magdalen, a very large woman, quite nude, and 
gathering about her a world of golden hair, amazing 
as is the beauty of her hair, I do thoroughly detest 
the picture. Such a woman would be incapable of 
repentance. She is coarse and earthly in every fibre 
of her frame, and in every recess of her mind. It is 
a pity that such a woman should be painted so well. 
I have no doubt it is a portrait, and I am sorry that 
Titian knew such a person and contemplated her so 
minutely. It seems to show a depraved taste and 
nature. How could it have been ? 

The dark, stately, most noble and I fear most ter- 
rible Ippolito di Medici, attracted me as usual by 
his beauty, his evil glance, and the princely state 
with which he bears himself. It is one of Titian's 
grand portraits, and recalls Raphael's Caesar Borgia 
in Home. A Cardinal by Vandyke is also one of 
the truly great portraits, with an air of consummate 
elegance, high bred and quiet and a little sad. 
Vandyke perhaps caught the trick of kingly pen- 
siveness from the face of Charles I. of England, 
whom he so often painted. This is Cardinal Benti- 
voglio. 

I saw a table to-day of extraordinary splendor. 
The slab was oriental alabaster, almost transparent, 



FLOREXGBj 393 

like liquid topaz or amber, and in this were inlaid 
grapes of precious ametliyst, and birds and flowers 
of other oriental stones, and they all seemed float- 
ing in a golden sea. 

One day I went to meet Mr. Browning and the 
improvisatrice, Giovannina Milli, at Miss H.'s. Mr. 
Browning and his little son were there ; bnt no 
improvisatrice. An English Waterloo Major Greg- 
orie was there too, and a Mr. Trollope, and Miss 
Blagden, and Miss E., a literary, elderly lady, hor- 
rent with plumes, who was very clever. All were 
English excepting myself. The little Browning 
played to us some of hi» sonatas admirably, though 
he has only known how to play fourteen months ; 
and I had a delightful talk with his father, who is 
most fascinating, with his mobile life and his deep 
earnestness. 

On the 23d, we drove, in an open barouche, over 
the Arno to see the illuminations that illustrated St. 
John's Eve — the Eve of St. John, sung of in poetry. 
It was a scene of enchantment. We paused on the 
Ponte Yecchio, and looked toward the west, up the 
river. The Ponte Santa Trinita and Ponte Carraja 
were hung with globes of light, like huge bubbles, 
and all were reflected in the water beneath. The 
parapets, on both sides the river, were studded with 
the same delicate globes, making a glittering cornice, 
doubled beneath ; and lighted boats floated quietly 
in every direction, each one a moving constellation 
of stars, on the surface of the water, as well as in 

17* 



0C4 KOTES IN ITALY. 

the pictured world below. The palaces on the Lung' 
Arno w^ere kmdled up over their fa9ades, and, afar 
off, the mountains, a dark, waving outline ; and 
above, a black sky, with heavy, windy clouds, were 
the frame of this radiant pageant. Through thick 
crowds of people, and in a long line of carriages, we 
went on to the Piazza of the Gran Duca. But there 
I was disappointed. I thought I should see the 
tower of the Palazzo Yecchio a blaze of fire ; but 
the lights had been blown by the wind, and a very 
few only remained, looking very wild and restless. 
The noble Loggia di Lanzi, with its statues, was 
illuminated, though inadequately ; but we could see 
the solemn priestesses standing, — the Poman, rush- 
ing away with the Sabine woman, torn from her hus- 
band, — the potent Hercules, just about destroying 
the Centaur — the noble lions, reposing in reserved 
might — the antique group of Ajax, dying or dead in 
the arms of a soldier, — and a dim vision of the 
heroic Perseus, with upraised arm, holding Medusa's 
severed head. The light also struck upon Michel 
Angelo's David, and the colossal group of Hercules 
and Cacus, on one side the entrance of the Pa- 
lazzo Vecchio, and brought into view the Neptune 
of the fountain. Meanwhile a band of musicians 
stood in the Loggia, performing symphonies of the 
great composers, which made all the marble figures 
seem to live and breathe and move. 

TVe then drove to the Piazza of the Duomo. The 
Duomo was kindled with little flames, and the gen- 



FLORENCE. 395 

eral blaze of tlie Piazza fully revealed the beautiful 
Campanile, climbing up into the inky sky, with its 
bright marbles, — the stately outline perfectly de- 
fined, as it could not be by day. Whether the lights 
had been blown out on this bell-tower, or whether 
it had been purposely left unlighted for better effect, 
I cannot tell, but the effect was infinitel}' better so. 
Another band was stationed here, enriching the air 
wdth Beethoven's music, and by the potent conjura- 
tion of "inweaved harmonies" the dome and the 
Campanile both seemed to rise that moment into 
space, — the vast dome swelling wdth triumphant 
pomp, and piercing the darkness with its illuininated 
Cross. We then came round to the Lung' Arno, 
where still another band suddenly struck up Verdi's 
opera of the Traviata, and we waited to hear it, 
within sight of the river ; and, afterward, we re- 
turned on our way, and reviewed all our pictures. 

The 24th was St. John's Day, the chief day in 
Florence. In the afternoon, Miss H. kindly took 
us to the Palazzo Villa, where, from a balcony, we 
could overlook the Corso, and where we were directly 
opposite the Loggia of the Grand Duke, in which 
the Court assembled to see the Eace. The race- 
course reaches from the Porta Santa Croce to the 
Porta al Prato, which, I believe, is the gate that 
opens upon the Cascine. That day it was covered 
with gravel, and very thoroughly wetted, because 
the pavements here are so smooth that the horses 
might slip upon them. All Florence was gathered 



803 NOTES IN ITALY. 

on tlie sides of tlie Corso, — on foot, and upon tempo- 
rary seats, raised in rows one above another, on 
either hand, and at every balcony, window, and 
roof — all in festal attire. Slowly moving over the 
course were two lines of carriages, as at the Roman 
Carnival ; but as it was not Carnival-time, no confetti 
were thrown. Ladies, in ball-dresses, but with bon- 
nets, sat quietly and looked and were looked upon ; 
and every color of the rainbow, in stuffs, made^ 
the scene gay. Beneath our balcony, opposite the 
Ducal Loggia, two battalions of soldiers stood on 
guard. Dragoons rested, statue-like, or pranced up 
and down to marshal the throng. Fancy at the 
corner of a block of houses, a square, lofty apart- 
ment, open in front and on one side, and supported 
at those openings by gray stone Corinthian columns, 
and you have the royal Loggia. Our balcony was 
on a level with it. It was richly carpeted, and a 
crimson divan was arranged round two sides. In 
the centre stood six crimson and ormolu arm-chairs 
— thrones for the royal family. Over the solid bal- 
ustrades, between the side-columns, crimson-damask 
drapery, bordered with gold, was flung to lean upon ; 
but between the central columns, heavy red velvet 
and gold for the Grand Duke and Duchess, and the 
Archduke and Archduchess, to rest their princely 
arms upon withal, damask not being good enough 
for royalty. Curtains of crimson silk with gold 
fringe were festooned between the pillars ; and the 
walls within were hung with white satin. 



FLORENCE. Z^l 

After seeing euclless carriages go and return for 
two hours, a sudden and most lugubrious sound of 
tlie drum, monotonous and inharmonious, made me 
look about, and I saw a carriage with six horses and 
three footmen appear, and Avithin were laces, bro- 
cades, pearls and diamonds, and military uniforms, 
gold-laced ; but as this as well as all the court- 
carriages was covered, we could see only half- faces, 
as we were so high. Fair arms we saw, much be- 
jewelled, however. There were the Prince PoniatoAv- 
ski and his Princess. Many state-carriages, each 
with six horses, followed, till a flourish of trumpets 
announced a greater dignity — and this was the 
Grand Duke himself. On his six horses were postil- 
ions in green and gold. His coach was golden, and 
on the top of it the ducal crown reposed. Behind 
stood three footmen, one (he who was to lay his 
hands upon Majesty), entirely in white velvet, with 
yellow boots. Following this cortege rode the Guarda 
Nobile, the noble guard, in scarlet uniform, with 
white-plumed helmets, on fine horses — and then 
came several more state-carriages, with the rest of 
the court. Twice this splendid train passed up and 
down the Corso for the benefit of the beholders ; 
and to the bows and greeting of the crowd, the 
noble personages perpetually raised half-way and 
let fall again the carriage-windows, quite a novel 
st3de of salute. 

Finally, all this goodly company was gathered 
into the Loggia. First came the Pope's nuncio, 



898 NOTES IN ITALY. 

with purple legs, and a broad scarlet ribbon round 
liis neck, meeting in a star in front — a youthful, 
earthly, fat, round priest, very unprepossessing, and 
attended by an attache. So came the other minis- 
ters of foreign countries, with their ladies, and also 
the maids of honor, designated by bows on their 
left shoulders. Some were fair, with coronets of 
pearls and diamonds, and clouds of illusion-lace, 
and all, of course, with rich brocaded trains, which, 
in the absence of pages, they held on their left arms. 
Faintly and lovelily gleamed the pearls without 
price, and, like fine, promethean fire, burned and 
flashed the diamonds, certainly the royalest of gems. 
I never till that day witnessed it in such full play, 
and it certainly has a light that is nowhere else to 
be seen on sea or land or sky. Such a delicate, 
spiritual, soul of a flame, piercing like ten thousand 
damascus-blades of an army of fairies ! such an in- 
describable fineness of fierceness — so etherial and 
so real — so fleeting — ah ! I have it ! — no ! I have it 
not ! too celestial to hold. It is like the crossing of 
wit in augels. It is the symbol of angelic intellects 
in collision. It includes all light and all color. It 
blinds like a ray from the " Sovereign Eye," or would 
bliud, if it did not vanish as soon as it comes. What 
a deep significance has this gem ! Nursed in utter 
dark — of solid blackness — and then becoming in- 
visible in purity absolute, were it not held ia sight 
by combining all hues in its hueless substance. 
Where is so perfect an emblem of the soul, in the 



FLORENCE. .309 

concrete? All the precious jewels are symbolical, 
and this is the secret of their charm, I think. Ah ! 
the best of the show to me, on St. John's Day, were 
the diamonds. 

Presently the white-haired Grand Duke and Grand 
Duchess arrived — the treacherous Grand Duke ! 
Mrs. Browning has deprived him of his princeliness 
by the deeds of his she has sung in " Casa Guidi 
Windows." Yet she told me he is a kind, devoted 
father to his young children, and even walks wdth 
them in his arms at night, when they are ill ; and 
so she thinks there must be good in him. He is 
not tall, and his hair is very white. His dress was 
embroidered richly with broad courses of gold. 
Over one shoulder a wide scarlet ribbon passed, and 
his breast was covered with orders and stars. He 
held a white plumed hat flat beneath his arm, and 
wore buff hose. I had seen a bust of the Grand 
Duchess in Mr. Powers' studio, and in that she is 
very handsome and regal-looking ; but this day she 
was extremely red, and, though gracious and stately, 
was not beautiful. Twelve years have passed, how- 
ever, since the bust was taken. She wore a white 
silk petticoat trimmed with lace — a pink damask 
train, flowered with silver — a scarlet ribbon over 
one shoulder — pink and white marabouts in her 
hair, waving off from a coronet of flashing jewels. 
But the young Archduchess was lovely. She also 
was in white and pink, with pink marabouts and a 
band of large pearls and scintillating diamond 



400 NOTES IN ITALY. 

points round lier liead. The Archduke was most 
repulsive in countenance, but with a good figure, in 
military costume. The Grand Duchess walked 
round her court, first speaking to the Ministers, and 
then to all the ladies, with one of whom she talked 
a great while. It was very nice to watch at will 
this living picture of the royal group — to see them in 
full dress, moving, courtesying, laughing, practising 
le bel air — their ease and their grace. It was much 
more full of life than the Court of Lisbon, which is 
the only one at which I have been presented. There 
was no queen there, which may have been one cause 
of the excessive stiffness and formality. The ladies 
sat round the walls of the saloons, like so many 
statues, and when the King approached, six would 
start up at once, with a sort of galvanic shock, to 
receive him ; and when he passed on, these six 
would sink down, and other six rise in their stead, 
and they said little else besides " Yes, Sire" (Si, 
Sire). 

Presently the poor horses, goaded by leathers, 
pricked with points, rushed by, and the Grand Duke 
and Duchess leaned on their velvet to look at them. 
It was all over in a twinkling. The Princess Bona- 
parte meanwhile came into our balcony to see the 
sights — a lady with a most singular countenance, 
white as drifted snow, with not a particle of color. 
She seemed hardly human — not alive — an image of 
dead white wax. We then ate ice-creams, and were 
exceedingly comfortable. 



FLORENCE. 401 

June 25tli. — We spent this evening at Casa Guidi. 
I saw Mrs. Browning more satisfactorily, and she 
grows loveher on farther knowing. Mr. Browning gave 
me a pomegranate bud from " Casa Guidi Windows," 
to press in my memorial-book. He is full of vivid 
life, like a rushing river. I should think nothing 
could resist the powerful impetus of his mind and 
heart ; and this effervescing, resplendent life — fresh 
every moment, like a waterfall or a river — seems to 
have a shadow over it, like a light cloud, as if he 
were perplexed in the disposal of his forces. An 
anxious line is on his brow. His voice is glad and 
rich — a union of oboe and flute tones. 

The finest light gleams from Mrs. Browning's 
arched eyes — for she has those arched eyes so un- 
usual, with an intellectual, spiritual radiance in them. 
They are sapphire, with dark lashes, shining from out 
a bower of curling, very dark, but, I think, not black 
hair. It is sad to see such deep pain furrowed into 
her face — such pain that the great happiness of her 
life cannot smooth it away. In moments of rest 
from speaking her countenance reminds one of those 
mountain-sides, ploughed deep with spent water- 
torrents, there are traces in it of so much grief, so 
much suffering. The angelic spirit, triumphing at 
moments, restores the even surface. How has any- 
thing so delicate braved the storms ? Her soul is 
mighty, and a great love has kept her on earth a 
season longer. She is a seraph in her flaming wor- 
ship of heart, while a calm, cherubic knowledge sits 



402 NOTES IN ITALY. 

entLroned on her large brow. How she remains vis- 
ible to us, with so little admixture of earth, is a mys- 
tery ; but fortunate are the eyes that see her, and 
the ears that hear her. 

June 26th. — I stood long at the gate of the Bap- 
tistery this morning, and I saw why Raphael studied 
and copied those figures. He drew from them 
some of his ineffable grace. In the afternoon we 
drove to Bellosguardo, to take tea with Miss Blag- 
den at her Villa Brichieri. The balcony commands 
a magnificent view of Florence and the surround- 
ing mountains. There blooms the Flower-City, 
with the Duomo in its chalice. The soft heights 
immediately around are crowned with castles, tow- 
ers, and villas, like white and yellow lilies among 
the green foliage. Galileo lived in one of them, 
and in one Savonarola was imprisoned. Many il- 
lustrious men make the landscape rich with heroic 
memories. Day faded away over the Yal d'Arno 
on the left of us, as we looked forth. After tea 
we went out again, and a wonderful ceremony, 
a "function," was then going on in the east, in 
which the state-dress was cloth of silver. The same 
cosily material was soon flung over the whole valley, 
for the Queen of Night arose, without the thinnest, 
slightest veil of illusion over the keen splendor of 
her royal face, and Mr. Browning was talking to us ! 
It seemed like a wonderful dream, and not a real 
experience in this work-a-day world. On our return, 



FLORENCE. 403 

tlie cit}" gate swung up in the air to let our carriage 
pass under, and we might have smuggled Mazzini 
into Florence ; for though they asked us a question, 
they did not look into our midst, and the guard on 
duty quietly stood aside. 

June 28th. — This morning was very fine and cool, 
and w^e went to Santa Croce, " the Westminster Ab- 
bey of Florence" (says the book), because great men 
are buried there. It is large and stately, with rows 
of many-sided columns, clothed to-day in red and 
yellow damask, because a Function was in process. 
The high altar was lighted up with a multitude of 
w^ax candles, and there w^as chanting and organ- 
bursts, and genuflexions, and bells, and swinging of 
censers. 

Michel Angelo's monument is surmounted with 
a faithful portrait bust of him, which was deeply in- 
teresting to see. I know his face now perfectly well. 
Figures of sculpture, painting, and architecture sit 
mourning round the sarcophagus. Architecture is 
the best. There was something tawdry about the 
adornments over the bust, not respectful to the 
mighty genius — a sort of daubing of mock drapery. 
How could they do so, right before his face, and he 
so true — a despiser of shams ? I felt ashamed. The 
too late monument to Dante is not good at all. The 
poet sits, leaning on his hand, with the w^ell-known 
features and profile ; but they have put a laurel 
crown on his head, in a sort of tiara fashion, which 



404 NOTES m ITALY. 

takes away from tlie likeness ; and lie is very stern, 
as if sitting in judgment on liis beloved and ungrate- 
ful Florence. Florence (I presume) stands on the 
pedestal of the sarcophagus, and points to Dante, 
sitting above, with an air of peculiar bravado, and 
says, *' Quorate I'altissimo Poeta," indicating im- 
periously those inscribed words with her finger. A 
weeping figure is on the other side ; but I do not 
know who. The wall-crown of the other showed her 
to be a city. Farther on is Alfieri's monument, cut 
by Canova and erected by the Countess of Albany. 
It is not good for anything to me. One draped 
mourner stands leaning on the tomb. Some of the 
pictures of the chapels were by Vasari, wdio never 
interests me, and some were by Bronzino, equally 
indifferent to my fancy ; and finally we arrived at 
the south transept, out of which opens the chapel 
of the Holy Sacrament, which w^e entered. There 
we found some good and curious old china statues 
of saints, by Luca della Robbia. In the south 
transept was a painting of the Coronation of the 
Virgin, on a gold ground, by Giotto, with crowds of 
saints and angels — beautiful heads. After seeing 
so many ordinary altar-pictures, it was inspiring to 
meet again a truly devout one. And on the left 
side of the same chapel were frescoes by Taddeo 
Gaddi — the Presentation at the Temple, the Mar- 
riage of the Virgin, and an Assumption. One may 
look at any number of Bronzino's or of Vasari's 
pictures till one is blind, and not be moved or 



FLORENCE. 405 

affected by a face or form or sentiment. But Gi- 
otto or Taddeo Gaddi immediately rouses atten- 
tion and reverence. I am never weary of tbem. 
Mr. H. declared that Giotto would be the death of 
him ; for he hates to see half-obliterated and pale 
wrecks of these old masters. But I live better for 
even pale Giottos, and the whole quaint, devout old 
band, in any stage of ruin. 

On the other side-aisle we found Galileo's tomb, 
and that of Morghem, the famous engraver, and 
finally we got into some chapels painted by Giotto 
and Giottino. Here I was again glad and Mr. H. 
desperate ; for they had all been whitewashed over, 
and only lately brought to view by a zealous priest ; 
and so they were injured and then repaired and 
patched. There was an Entombment, and events in 
the life of St. Francis. I found many noble expres- 
sive faces and figures through all the broken surface ; 
and when the services at the altar were over, I went 
to a chapel on the right of it, entirely painted over by 
Giotto. A queenly Elizabeth of Hungary is in one 
panel, and the sides are illustrated with the life of 
St. Francis, wonderful forms, which I must try to 
record another time for my future delectation ; but 
not now. Though vanishing into the past, I could 
still catch the grand lines, the majestic repose an :1 
religious solemnity of expression. Oh, where are 
the artists to draw these departing glories, that 
they may be engraved for a never-ending inspiration 
to aU present and future time ! Can this child- 



406 NOTES IN ITALY. 

like, unconscious grandeur ever again be found in 
art? 

In the piazza is a palace, whose fa9ade is covered 
with fine but faded frescoes by the best artists of 
the day. It is the Palazzo of Niccolo dell' Antella, 
and a bust of one of the Medici is over the great 
arched entrance. It was in this piazza that assem- 
blies of the people were held, and the free institu- 
tions of Florence first established. The short-lived 
Liberty was born there, and it has a fountain from 
which flows the only pure water in the city. 

"We went through the Via dei Librai, where 
frowns the palace of the former hateful Podesta — 
a vast fortress, with a lofty tower at one end, now a 
prison. In the court of the Duomo, we delayed 
awhile by the " Sasso di Dante," where he used to 
sit and look at the Campanile and the Cathedral, as 
an inscription on a marble slab in the wall an- 
nounces. Near by, sit also, in marble, Brunelleschi 
and Arnolfo de Lapa, the illustrious architects — 
one gazing, with upturned head, at the noble works 
before him. Of course Ave lingered round the Gate 
of Paradise. With what a breezy grace stand the 
angels before the prostrate Abraham ! I have seen 
no figures so much like Raphael's as Gliiberti's. 
He was surely a kindred spirit. The heads in very 
high relief round the framework are, I believe, all 
portraits. At any rate, the perfectly bald one is 
Ghiberti himself. The walls of Jericho will inevita- 
bly fall flat at the blast of those trumpets, blown 



FLORENCE. 407 

Avitli such vigor. Three women, just behind some 
men who carry heavy stones to batter the city withal, 
are wonders of stately grace. The beauty and ex- 
pression of the countenances are very marvellous. 
Indeed Ghiberti was one of the miracles of genius. 
I wish the precincts of the Baptistery were not a 
coach-stand, so that one could be more quiet Avhile 
looking at this gate. It is so precious, too, that I 
do not like to have it endangered by the accidents 
of time. I think I would put it under plate-glass 
within the eternal walls of the Pitti Palace. It 
should not be out of doors. 

We thought we would visit the Palazzo Biccardi. 
Mr. Ware ventures to compare it to the Coliseum. 
It is grand and high and majestic ; but it is no more 
to be compared to the Coliseum than a mole-hill to 
a mountain. Besides, it has an ever-enduring new- 
ness of aspect. No ruin can be imagined of it. 
Every one of those mighty stones of rough Tuscan 
finish will look just as now when time shall be no 
longer. They can never decay, and never appear old. 
And the Coliseum could hide it away in one of its 
own vast recesses — in one of its great pockets. When 
I look at these dark, indestructible, gloomy palaces, 
they terrify me with a sense of hopelessness. They 
are defiant with strength, and like prisons from 
which there is no escape. But always they seem to 
be finished to-day, and not to belong to the past, 
though they are half a thousand years old already. 
This clear, bright atmosphere can never harm them. 



408 NOTES IN ITALY. 

And the Coliseum, softened by the ages in tint, and 
genial in the first place, being of buff tiaveitine, 
looks hoary with the years that have passed ; and 
flowers and moss and ivy, and even trees, grow upon 
and out of its stones. It is the Ruin of Ruins. 
Could a flower be persuaded to plant its delicate foot 
in a crevice of the terrible Pitti, Riccardi, or Strozzi? 
Could a crevice ever even be found in that nicely- 
fitted, firmly-compacted, unsympathizing mass? No- 
thing so soft as earth could rest there. When a 
prince gets inside those walls, can he feel anj^ pit}^ ? 
The Riccardi is now devoted to Government 
oflices. Soldiers keep guard before the entrance ; 
but we walked in without being molested. The 
first court is surrounded with Corinthian columns of 
oriental granite. The loggie behind the columns are 
filled with sculptures — busts, statues, three antique 
sarcophagi and bas-reliefs, and a beautiful large 
porphyry vase of an oval shape. On the right-hand 
side, as one enters, is a grand staircase, leading 
from the loggia, with ancient marble statues, in 
niches, on the way up. We were guided into a 
glorious little chapel, paved with mosaics, and its 
walls beautifully frescoed by Benozzo Gozzoli, and 
as fresh as if painted just now, though they are 
three hundred and eighty 3' ears old ! They have 
caught the spirit of the eternal walls, and never 
mean to fade. Lovely angels, kneeling in perpetual 
prayer — hunters radiant for the chase, and the 
famous foreshortened ass. I thought of Mr. Brown- 



FLORENCE. 409 

ing's poem of the Statue and the Bust, and ques- 
tioned whether the unfortunate Princess Biccardi 
ever knelt down in this chapel, either in despair or 
in penitence. 

From the Chapel we went to the Gallery, probably 
once a ball-room, and now used for the meetings of 
the Delia Crusca Society. It is panelled with plate- 
mirrors, upon which are painted Cupids and wreaths 
of flowers, as in some of the Boman palaces. The 
arched ceiling is covered with fi'escoes — in the centre 
the apotheosis of the Medici ! ! Tough work have 
the angels to lift the Medici above the world ! 
There they are, with their ignoble faces, endeavoring 
to rise through the an*. The aforementioned under 
lip of Leopold alone might make an angel stagger. 
All around are symbolical groups — the whole by II 
Volteranno. It was a baby-house compared to the 
magnificent gallery of the Colonna at Kome ; and I 
was much disappointed to find no oil-paintings in it. 
On the sides of the apartment were ranged innu- 
merable tabourets of red damask, and no other 
furniture. These are common in palaces, standing 
in solemn rows. The furniture of palaces never 
seems to be available. The chairs are generally as 
large and ponderous as thrones ; and no one would 
think of moving them into a companionable group. 
The superb tables of ormolu, with tops of precious 
marbles and jewels, must not be used to hold any- 
thing ; for if anything were put upon them, some 
exquisite flower, composed of amethyst, agate, coral- 

18 



410 NOTES IN ITALY. 

line, or sardonyx, witli leaves of malachite — or some 
bird of Paradise, of chalcedony, diaspre, and pearl, 
would be hidden. There is no inhabitableness in 
halls of state, no place for the heart, no inducement 
to live and unfold, so wonderful are the compensa- 
tions of Providence ! 

In the afternoon Miss Bla2[den came in her car- 
riage to drive me to Bellosguardo, to look at a villa 
which she hopes we will take for August and Sep- 
tember, because she thinks we should not be safe in 

Florence during the dog-days. J went with us. 

The weather was brilliant, and we had a charming 
excursion. I found a sumptuous villa for delight, 
with multitudinous halls and chambers — with deeply 
shaded avenues ; clear, smooth lawn and semicir- 
cular terraces — a strong, old, gray-stone tower, at 
one end, where owls do whoop and hoot and sit, " to 
warm their wit," and in which Savonarola was im- 
prisoned. But, above all, the view from it, who can 
paint or describe ? From the tower Florence can be 
seen, and from the windows of the villa we looked 
upon a rich plain of great extent, Pistoia afar off, 
and the lovely mountains keeping watch and ward ; 
and, at that moment, receiving into their fastnesses 
the sun, who was retiring to rest in great pomp of 
gold. The air was nectar and elixir. I think we 
must go there. 

June 29th. — In the afternoon I took U. and E. to 
the Kace, with Ada. "We had a much more favor- 



FLORENCE. 411 

able situation for seeing the pageant tlian before, 
and could sit all the time. It was not a day of such 
state as St. John's Day, and it closed the festival. 
The court came to the royal loggia, but not in full 
dress. There were no trains nor coronets of dia- 
monds and pearls, and no scarlet ribbons over shoul- 
ders ; neither did the Grand Duke drive in his 
golden coach, with the crown atop. As it luckily 
chanced in the course, the royal carriage was obliged 
to stop just before us, and we had three or four 
minutes to stare straight into the faces of the Grand 
Duke and Duchess. The Grand Duke looked like a 
monkey, with an evil disposition, most ugly and 
mean. The lady has not a ray of beauty left, but 
amiably kept bowing to the people every instant. 
But it was worth while to see the young Archduchess 
who followed. She is most lovely — pale and sweet. 
Her dark hair was rolled back and confined with a 
band of pearls, and blue marabouts waved from it, 
and her robe was azure brocade. All the maids of 
honor wore wreaths of flowers round their heads. 
The Grand Duke has that frightful, coarse, pro- 
truding under lip, peculiar to the imperial race of 
Austria and formerly of Spain. It is worth while to 
extinguish the race, for the sake of expunging that 
lip and all it signifies. No man with such a mouth 
can love liberty or spiritual things. It got into the 
Medici family somehow — probably by marriage, and 
it plunges one into musing to see how inexorable is 
nature in avenging broken laws ; while, also, she 



A12 NOTES IN ITALY. 

" never did betray the heart that loved her," as 
Wordsworth says. 

The scene was very gay, and the crowd most 
orderly and gentle, like all Tuscan crowds. We 
could see the course even to the Porta al Prato ; 
and after the court had arrived, the carriages left 
the street, and a body of dragoons, slowly and 
courteously, drove all the people off the Corso, in 
preparation for the horses. Two men were killed 
the other day, and therefore great precautions were 
taken now. As soon as the poor steeds were let to 
run, the six royal people leaned over their baluster 
to see ; and then the Grand Duke threw a paper 
to some privileged person, which caused immense 
merriment, and the Duchess laughed very much. 
I have yet to discover what this paper was. * * 
We did not arrive home till nearly eight, and though 
all Florence was in the streets, the city was as quiet 
and safe as a drawing-room. 

June 30th. — This morning, I went with the chil- 
dren and Ada to the Academy of Arts, and to the 
Pietre-dure Rooms. In the first of the latter are 
specimens of all the pietre dure stones used in Flo- 
rentine mosaic, in their rough state ; then specimens 
of each, polished. I had no idea that there was such 
a rich variety used in mosaics. Agates of all realms 
and of exquisite beauty — chalcedony, coralline, mal- 
achite, lapis-lazuli of all combinations of tints — the 
oriental, of deepest and purest blue shades, and the 



FLORENCE. 413 

French; mucli mixed with bright, gold veins ; green 
and red porphyries, jaspers, many kinds of sardonyx 
and onyx, nero, rosso, giallo and verde antico, ser- 
pentine of Egypt (also green), granites of all coun- 
tries, some very beautiful, of a rosy hue — which was 
surprising to me (I having been accustomed to sup- 
pose the gray New England granite the only one) — 
terra di paese — a wonderful stone, whose markings 
resemble ruins of temples and cities — amethysts, 
crystal, alabasters, both oriental and occidental — 
samples of all the marbles in the world, some 
marked with mosses and ferns, some with lovely 
shells — and a marble called " flowers of Persia," 
from its gorgeous colors ; and another named " stel- 
laria," from its starred appearance. I cannot recol- 
lect a tenth part, however. Four rooms were sur- 
rounded with cases filled with specimens, all num- 
bered, and for each room were six or seven printed 
lists, in the form of hand-screens, for visitors. It is, 
as usual with the Grand Ducal treasures, free to the 
public, not a crazia being required as fee. Guards, 
in the royal livery, keep watch. After this suite of 
precious-stone saloons came a gallery, with copies 
in mosaic of oil paintings — and then another, Avitli 
more of these, but, in addition, cabinets of the best 
work executed there, in small articles — little land- 
scapes, figures in groups, birds, fiowers, and ara- 
besques. I saw on this wall the model for the ad- 
mirable mosaic of the Pantheon, which I liked so 
much in the Pitti Palace, and also models of some 



414 NOTES IN ITALY. 

of the tables there. Then followed a large saloon, 
"W'itli superb inlaid cabinets, vases, large and small 
tables, and a great part of the ornaments for the 
altar in the Medicean Chapel at San Lorenzo. Some 
of these were high -reliefs in precious stones ! figures 
of saints and angels and solid birds. Fancy an angel 
arrayed in robes of real amethyst, chalcedony, jas- 
per, topaz, and ruby, starred with crystals (perhaps 
diamonds) and emeralds ! Petrified woods make 
some of the most superb stones. 

In the Academy of Arts we spent nearly two hours 
in the first gallery. The Assumption of the Virgin, 
the Pieta, and the Descent from the Cross, by Peru- 
gino, the Adoration of the Magi, by Gentile di 
Fabriano, the Deposition, by Fra Angelico, and a 
few others, occupied us all that time. All were bet- 
ter upon farther knowing. 

July 1st. — To-day we set forth to see the house of 
Michel Angelo, where he once lived, and where a 
Buonarotti, minister of state, now resides, and allows 
the palace to be shown every Thursday. But after 
our long walk we were disappointed, because repairs 
are going on in it. So we went into the Church of 
Santa Croce, and looked at the beautiful marble 
pulpit, cut in bas-relief, in the cinque-cento style, 
which I did not examine before. But I am now 
thinking of the Palazzo Vecchio, which we afterward 
visited. The Cortile, with its sculptured columns, 
fountains, and fi*escoed walls, is noble ; and from 



FLORENCE. 415 

that we went up some right rojal staircases, — broad 
and low steps, so low that, instead of using effort 
to go up, they seemed to lift one along with a buoy- 
ant bound. Not even those of the Barberini Palace 
are equal to them. Up, up, and up we mounted, to 
be sure, for on the continent nothing is down-stairs 
worth seeing. We must climb near to the sky first. 
At last we attained a large ante-room, " in faded 
splendor wan" (for in this palace the Medici for- 
merly displayed great state). The walls on three 
sides were covered with gold fleurs-de-lis, and on the 
fourth were frescoes by Domenico Ghirlandaio, the 
master of Michel Angelo. From this we entered 
the Hall of Audience, covered by frescoes of the 
deeds of Camillus, by Salviati, and it had a gor- 
geous ceiling of sunken panels and bosses, with 
argosies of gold upon them. Three large cabinets 
were there, containing carvings in ivory of the most 
delicate beauty, and the custode said that some of 
them were the work of Benvenuto Cellini himself. 
One cabinet was filled with an altar-service of a 
hundred or more pieces, carved out of the finest 
amber, of both the transparent and opaque kinds — 
cups, crucifixes, vases, many varieties of p^'x, and 
other vessels, of which I do not know the names. 
They were like lucid gold, or sunshine crystallized, 
and polished like glass. This superb equipage once 
covered the altar of the private chapel of the palace. 
No doubt many of the figures and cups were cut by 
Benvenuto Cellini ; but the custode did not say so. 



416 , NOTES m ITALY. 

The chapel is small, but exceedingly precious ; foi 
it is painted all over with frescoes by Ridolfo Ghir- 
landaio — angels, cherubs, prophets, saints ; and the 
Annunciation is at one end. The frescoes are very 
grand — glorious little cherubs — grouped like bou- 
quets of flowers in circles — and mighty old prophets 
and evangelists, sitting in eternal repose — and 
sacred heads, with the peace of heaven in them, 
painted in medallions over the altar, as if they 
beamed through the walls in answer to earnest 
prayer, revelations of a future, happy world. What 
a pity it is that any wall should remain a dead blank 
when they might all blaze with glory in this way, 
and wake the soul by touch of art divine ! Must we 
not go back to this adornment again, since it arose 
from the demand of the soul, and the soul demands 
it still ? What were colors made for, if not to use for 
the worship of God, and the culture of the spirit? 
Are we more devout for bare walls ? Are we less 
spiritually -minded when the plain plaster gives place 
to rainbow-winged angels, holding dulcimer, cithern, 
and harp, praising God — their faces refulgent with 
His light ? We need more Era Angelicos to open 
the doors of Paradise for us, and to crowed blank 
space with seraphim and cherubim — also Ghir- 
landaios and Michel Angelos to reveal the sublime 
brows and forms of Propliets, Sibyls, Saints, and 
Martyrs whenever we lift up our eyes. It is, to be 
sure, a serious obstacle to the satisfying of such 
needs that we now have no devout masters in the 



FLORENCE. 417 

world. I try to fancy a function going on in this 
chapel. A hundred waxen-tapers kindle into flam- 
ing magnificence these amber implements. The 
carved figures are diaphanous, as if they had put 
on celestial bodies, which offer no obstruction to the 
blazing light, but rather seem to organize it. Wings 
sparkle and flow and wave with arrested, golden cur- 
rents. Every vase seems filled with the wine of life 
in its own substance. The pyxes look as if the 
mysterious Host they had held had transfused itself 
into a visible Sun of Righteousness, shining through 
the amber ; — the Christ on the crucifixes has changed 
into glory, and even transfigured the cross. The 
priests who are administering here, robed in creamy 
cloth of gold, add a living splendor as they move ; 
and, turninGf from the radiance of the altar and its 
ministers, behold the heavenly hierarchies, beaming 
through the walls on every side, with love, joy, and 
immutable peace, bringing blessings for sincere 
worshippers, and remaining fixed assurances of 
never-failing help in time of trouble. But how in- 
explicable it is that, with all these appliances, even 
the very priests themselves could continue as stolid 
as stones, and receive not a single divine idea or im- 
pulse from all that art could fashion and the mind 
conceive. I must not omit the music from my func- 
tion — the organ-thunders, and human voices, rising 
and falling in tuneful adoration with tones that seem 
to cause the pictured faces to flash with rapture — 
and the wings of angels to plume themselves for 

18* 



418 NOTES IX ITALY. 

flight. The Medici were present at such services in 
this chapel of theirs ; but beauty of soul and person 
was not the result to them. 

The custode, at my request, now took us into a 
small room to show us Bianca Capella, a very rotund 
and jollj^ dame — not at all distiDguished in aspect. 
Francesco di Medici was her pendant, and between 
them stood Cosmo II., in marble. The Empress 
Helena was also there, and a fair little Carolina di 
Medici, sweet and innocent, with pale, gold hair and 
clear, azure eyes. It was a relief to see one inno- 
cent looking di Medici. From this we were led into 
a narrow corridor, and looked down into the grand 
saloon, built for the consiglio pojndare. It was full 
of workmen and in confusion ; but we could perceive 
its stateliness. The walls are covered with fi'escoes 
of the victories of Cosmo I., — conquests of Pisa 
and Siena, by Vasari — besides others by Cigoli, etc. 
Hound the vast hall, upon the floor, are marble 
statues and gi'oups, by famous artists, and one by 
Michel Angelo, left unfinished. This is Victory and 
Captivity. The face of Victory is as clear and calm 
and powerful as ideal Victory ought to be. It looks 
like Day without a cloud. There is no expression 
of humanity in it — I mean, of a man. It is a Prince- 
dom. The attitude is almost indescribable. The 
figure fronts toward the right ; but the head is turned, 
looking over the shoulder, so that it faced me as I 
stood before it. Beneath the hands and feet 
crouches Captivity, an old man, half bowed on his 



FLORENCE. 410 

knees, with a noble contour, only partly made out. 
Michel Angelo struggled with the marble till the 
idea was evident, and then left it, like so many 
other of his half-evolved blocks. The limbs of Cap- 
tivity have not fought their way out of the stone yet 
— they are captive to it — though one can discern 
indications, as if through an almost transparent 
medium. Mr. H. thought the figure of Victory too 
tall, and the head too small in proportion. Perhaps 
it is, and perhaps Michel Angelo left it because he 
was not content with it. Yet, in that case, I think 
he would have given it one of his Cyclopean blows 
and demolished the whole. The expression is so 
fine, that I did not mind the discrepancies, if there 
be any. 

I saw one day in the cortile of the Academy of 
Arts another ahozzo of the great artist. It is St. 
Matthew. One can see the colossal form, sitting 
with a book ; and yet one cannot tell how anything 
is seen (except one limb), for nothing is distinctly 
rendered. But somehow the design, shaped in the 
brain of the sculptor, has passed into the stone — no 
— rather, in the stone, Michel Angelo saw St. Mat- 
thew sitting with his Evangel, and took up his 
hammer and chisel to hew him out. He struck 
away the marble till he obtained access to him, and 
then, being assured he was there, he left him verj' 
safe till he should be in the mood to release him 
entirely. But he will never be released now, for 
now there is no angel Michel to smite off his chains. 



4'30 NOTES IN ITALY. 

I should have said that after taking a view of the 
saloon from above, the custode took us down into it, 
and that it was then I saw the sculpture. There 
was also a fine heroic statue of Pietro di Medici, as 
handsome as Achilles or Mars, and in the costume 
of a Greek warrior. But history says that Pietro 
(or Piero) di Medici was not distinguished for in- 
tellect or character ; yet if this be a true portrait, he 
must have been famous for his beauty, at least — and 
is not he the father of the superb Lorenzo in the 
Capella dei Depositi? Who was his mother — the 
mother of Pietro — I wonder; for not from the di 
Medici could such beauty come. 

Clement YII., who played so like a cat with Henry 
VIII. of England, sits in marble, with a King kneel- 
ing before him — and there is a grand statue of Leo 
X., resembling Raphael's portrait of him in the 
Pitti. But the marble transfigures his earthliness 
somewhat. 

The ceiling of the Hall is divided into compart- 
ments, richly carved and heavily gilded ; and in 
these compartments are finished oil-paintings, ex- 
tending over a hundred and seventy feet by seventy- 
five of space ! The colors are deep and bright, and 
the effect is sumptuous. The Florentines are very 
proud of this saloon, and believe it the largest in the 
world. The doors are hung with solid crimson satin, 
fringed with gold, and when the rubbish is cleared 
away and the workmen gone, I think Florence may 
well be proud of it. 



FLORENCE. 4-31 

When we left tlie Palazzo, wo saw the Lion, at 
the end of the broad terrace, which the Pisans were 
forced to kiss, after their defeat ; and Michel Ange- 
lo's David, which I do not like, probably because I 
do not yet understand it — and Hercules and Cacus 
and two inexplicable figures. And we crossed to 
the Loggia of the Lancers, by Orgagna, and looked 
at the Perseus more carefully than I have done 
before. It is one of those faces in which deepest 
thought is expressed, earnest, sad thought, and 
heroic beauty. There is not much taper to the 
limbs, but immense strength in the arms. I hope 
Benvenuto Cellini will not destroy me, in enraged 
self-complacence, if I say that I wish they were 
slenderer, to harmonize with the intellectual fineness 
of the face. The irises of the eyes are cut out — 
incised — which gives them a dark, intent look, which 
I do not altogether like for sculpture. The winged 
helmet is falling from his clustering hair; for he 
need not be invisible any longer, now that the deed 
is done. He holds out the terrible head dreamily, 
almost unconsciously, as lost in thought. Canova's 
Perseus is only a vain toy compared to this noble 
creation. Canova was external, I think. He cut 
the outside of the marble nicely, and never wrestled 
after a profound idea, hidden in it. It is all very 
neat, but who cares? 

It was exceedingly interesting to see the statu- 
ettes, placed round the pedestal of the Perseus, re- 
ferring to the myth. For the Grand Duchess liked 



422 NOTES IN ITALY. 

tliem so much, slie wislied to have them in her 
boudoir, and Benvenuto was so determined she 
should not, that he placed them in their proper 
niches, in the night, while the Duchess was asleep. 
The account he gives in his autobiograpliy of the 
casting of the statue is very characteristic. After 
loitering about the most beautiful of all Loggie for 
a long time, we went into the Gallery of the Uffizzi, 
and sat down in the first vestibule, to contemplate the 
Medici. I must confess that Ferdinand III. has 
quite a grand head, wherever he got it. Cosmo III. 
is as repulsive and ugly as Philip II. of Spain. 
Cosmo II. looks like a negro, with frightful, thick, 
prominent lips ; and, indeed, they are a fearful set 
of men. Oh, beautiful Florence ! how insane must 
have been your conduct, to fall into the hands of 
such keepers I ^- * * * ^ ^ 

We passed on to the Tribune, for I wished to see 
Michel Angelo's Holy Family, after reading Mr. 
Ware's excessive eulogium of the Madonna. Mr. 
Ware has gone mad on that Madonna, I believe, 
for I am sure she is not what he describes her to 
be. With all my faith in and enthusiasm for the 
artist, I cannot see in it what he rages about. The 
mother is looking up into the infant's face, and not 
into the heavens in a prayer or dream or musing. 
To me she is not noble nor particularly full of ex- 
pression. The infant is grand and Joseph is benign 
— only the Madonna disappoints me. 

We did not stay long in the entrancing Tribune, 



FLORENCE. 423 

because to-day I wished to see tlie pencil and pen 
and ink drawings of the great masters. As we 
came out of the southern gallery, however, we 
found the door of the cabinet of gems open, and 
were drawn in. There we saw splendors upon 
splendors of precious jewels and stones. A toad, 
made of one priceless, great pearl, with two jewels 
in his head, was certainly a toad in glory. There 
was a face of oriental jade, with dazzling diamonds 
for eyes ; and a negro's head of paragon (a black 
precious stone), with an immense pearl for head- 
dress, and a tunic of one entire pearl, bordered 
with rubies ! I think he was proba])ly the ancestor 
of the negro-lipped Medici. There were innumer- 
able vases of every form, size, and precious material 
— columns of crystal, with bands of diamonds, eme- 
ralds, and rubies round their capitals ; but I cannot 
tell all that there was. The little cabinet was a gem 
of itself, surrounded by columns of verde antique, 
and paved with marbles. 

So now we were too late for the drawings to-day, 
and too tired also, and therefore we strolled into the 
portrait gallery, where I sketched the beautiful Ra- 
phael, and became better acquainted with Leonardo 
da Yinci and Titian. Titian is handsome, but I 
neither love nor reverence him, for some reason best 
known to himself. In the hall of Bacchus, we looked 
at the authentic Plato, as it is said to be, a most 
noble, intellectual brow, and fine features, except 
that the mouth is not firm and strong. Can this be 



424 KOTES IN ITALY. 

true of the divine Plato ? As lie shares with Lv)rd 
Bacon the highest human intellect, I am sure he 
must be strong ; but it may be that this is a bust 
of him when his mouth had lost its precision of line 
from age. As I believe Lord Bacon and Shakspeare 
to be one and the same person — or rather, as I be- 
lieve Lord Bacon wrote what are called Shakspeare's 
plays and sonnets, this will account for my leaving 
him out of that lofty companionship. Now, no more. 
What a day this has been ! Oh, yes — a little more. 
When we came down into the Court, we saw the 
statue of Benvenuto Cellini, very handsome, a noble 
figure, holding lovingly on his arm his bronze Per- 
seus. However profoundly one may admire and ap- 
preciate Benvenuto, I think he goes beyond any one 
in admiration of himself; yet in such a simple, gen- 
uine way, that it is not offensive, but rather mnsome 
than otherwise. I cannot thank him enough for his 
entertaining autobiography, though it be somewhat 
mendacious. His mendacity is a mixture of fun and 
vanity ; but who ever had such cunning fingers ? I 
do not wonder that the Prince loved to watch him 
at work. It must have been like a glimpse into fairy 
land, when he was upon his bijouterie. I should be 
glad to know whether his hands were delicate and 
taper. And, now again, no more — to-night. 

July 2d. — The Brownings went to France yester- 
day morning, and there seems to be nobody in 
Florence now for us. 



FLORENCE. 425 

We have been to tlie Duomo to-day. It was in 
nice order, and the ugly chairs removed, and we 
could see the beauty of the pavement, as not before. 
We walked all round the chapels, and upon one, 
dedicated to the Virgin, was an image of her, with 
a necklace of large diamonds ; and she stands 
upon a crescent moon, five or six inches in its 
curve, made entirely of diamonds. As the altar 
was blazing with lighted candles, the effect was daz- 
zliug. 

I had a better view of Michel Angelo's Pieta, and 
the face and head of Christ are beautiful. Mary is 
older than she is represented in the Pieta at St. 
Peter's, but very grand— as is the whole group. 
John and Mary Magdalen help support the body of 
Jesus. It is lamentable that such a work should be 
in so dark a place, where it is nearly impossible ever 
to see it all, except the outline. The windows were 
superb to-day on the eastern side, with the sun 
shining through. The Cathedral is impressive and 
noble ; but very small in comparison to St. Peter's, 
and it somehow reveals the immensity of St. Peter's, 
which never was large enough to meet my expecta- 
tions, when I was in it. It is strange that the Flor- 
entines do not fill the Duomo with superior works of 
art ; but it is far better to have none than the pic- 
tures and statues of medium merit that usually are 
found in churches. 

Afterward we long contemplated the Gate of 
Gates of the Baptistery, and then endeavored to 



426 NOTES IN ITALY. 

find the Via Faenza, and the building in wLicli is 
the Cenacolo of Raphael. After some straying, we 
found it, and then Mr. H. left me ; for he said he 
could not look at a fresco to-day. A deplorable old 
beggar rang the bell for me, for the sake of a 
crazia, and a civil, respectable man opened the door, 
and ushered me into a room, one end of which is 
filled with the picture I wished to see. It has evi- 
dently been cleaned, and that dangerous process 
would take away the delicate finish and tints and 
atmosphere of a w^ork of Raphael ; but it is a grand, 
impressive, affecting design. John's head is exceed- 
ingly beautiful. He is represented asleep or faint, 
as he often is at the supper — I do not know whj^ 
unless it were impossible to portray his grief and 
amazement at the words, " one of you shall betray 
me." There is lovely repose in the perfect features 
and attitude. His head rests on his arm before 
Christ, who, with upraised hand, looks directly and 
deprecatingly, but with gentle majesty, at Judas, 
w^io is alone on this side the table, and stares out of 
the picture, with an uneasy and sinister glance, 
grasping the bag in his left hand. St. James is, 
like John, very young and beautiful, with a clear, open 
brow, and an expression of calm surprise, as if he 
could not readily conceive of such a crime. The older 
apostles are noble, some of them with a most tender 
sorrow, and all astonished, holding their knives and 
bread and cups suspended at the fearful words. 
Thaddeus is also represented as youthful. I was 



FLORENCE. 427 

quite alone in the building. Not a sound broke tlie 
profound silence. 

The arched, vaulted room was the old Refectory 
of the Convent of San Onofno, now repaired. 
Antique red-cushioned chairs were ranged round 
three sides ; and beneath the picture, on the fourtli 
side, was a carved settle. Sitting there so still, I 
seemed to be present at the very moment when Jesus 
pronounced the sentence that struck such amaze- 
ment and dismay into the hearts of his disciples, and 
they all became living persons to me. The fresco 
was very splendid in color once, with a great deal 
of gold. The dishes on the table are of elegant 
form, Hke Greek paterae ; but the whole effect is 
simple, and centres upon Christ and Judas. Just as 
Perugino's Pieta at the Academy made me more 
truly feel than ever before that Christ was crucified 
for man, so this assured me of that most affecting 
last supper on earth of Jesus and his friends. So 
powerful is the purpose and sentiment of the great 
masters, that we become possessed of the same. I 
often go round the chapels of the churches, and 
look at the altar-pictures, and see and feel nothing, 
as they usually are. But suddenly I am arrested, 
and always by the devout, religious, and inspired 
painters of the olden time, of whom Raphael was 
the consummate flower. 

Above, and far beyond the group at table, through 
arches, we see a landscape, with the trees and rocks 
and hills that drive Ruskin mad ; but I think they 



428 NOTES I2i ITALY. 

are always in keeping witli the figures in Eaphaelite 
and pre-Rapliaelite pictures, and I like tliem. They 
give distance and scope, without overwhelming the 
main design, and therefore have an artistic pro- 
priety. 

The Egyptian Museum is in the same building, 
and I wished to see a war-chariot that was there. 
There were mummies, in and out of mummy-cases, 
innumerable carved objects in precious stones, fi'ogs 
as big only as a pea, and large and small scaribsei 
of various substances — gods, altars, shrines, bas- 
reliefs, stele drawings on stucco, and one curious 
portrait of a handsome, unamiable lady, with hair 
dressed in the fashion of to-da3\ It has taken three 
or more thousand years for this style to come round 
again. In what a large orbit moves Fashion ! The 
war-chariot is made of wood — a very light kind of 
wood, with as little fi-amework and weight as .pos- 
sible. The seat (or stand, rather) is woven of reeds 
and straw. It must have flown like the wind, with 
fleet horses. Two very large, airy wheels were on 
each side ; and it was a Scythian chariot, after all, 
and I beheve I expected to see an Egyptian one. 
But if the chariots of Pharaoh were like this, they 
certainly could not withstand the waves. Why 
should our carriages be so ponderous? It is, at 
least, a pity to load our horses with such unneces- 
sary weight. Remote antiquity might teach us a 
great deal, though we brag so perpetually of our 
improvements. I laid my hand upon the woven 



FLORENCE. 429 

stand, wondering whose brave feet had hekl their 
place upon it in the thick of battle, three, or perhaps 
four, thousand years ago. Just now I had been iu 
the Holy Land, and now I was in Egypt ; for in 
Egypt this chariot was found. 

When I was about leaving the building, I offered 
the custode a fee, but, with a pc^lite bow, he pro- 
tested that I was " senza obligaziono," and I was 
really obliged to put my silver back into my purse, 
with speechless surprise. It is the first time in 
Europe that I have known a custode to refuse the 
money dropping into his hand, though attendants 
do not always demand it. 

On my way home I stopped at the Baptistery, and 
looked at Ghiberti's other door, which is also beau- 
tiful, and represents the Life of Christ. There is 
perfect grace, and delicate, forcible expression in 
the faces and forms ; and I think it would be con- 
sidered a masterpiece, if the eastern gate were not 
so peerless. The third one is the Life of St. John 
the Baptist, by Pisano. Inside, I looked at a wooden 
statue of Mary Magdalen, meagre, forlorn, and sad, 
with abundant hair enveloping her nude and wasted 
figure. I had come in, because, while gazing at 
Pisano's door, I felt a great drop of water fall on my 
nose, and instantly down poured a flood, and the 
thunder rolled ; so I fled into the sanctuary, and sat 
down. I could have stayed there contentedly for a 
long time, but I had not my watch, and was afraid 
I should be too late for dinner; so I summoned a 



430 NOTES IN ITALY. 

carriage and drove home. For more than two hours 
it continued to rain, thunder, and hghten ; then it 
cleared lustrously, and R. and I walked out of 
the Porta Eomana up the spacious avenue of the 
Grand Duke's villa, about a mile long, close by the 
city. It is a broad carriage-road, with nice foot- 
walks beneath the shade-trees on each side, open 
and free to all, in true Tuscan princely style. -^ * -^ 
At the gate of the Yilla were two marble statues — 
one, Jupiter hurling thunderbolts with the utmost 
furor, — a strange figure to place at the entrance of 
the ducal residence, though significant and appro- 
priate, considering how the Florentine rulers behave. 
The other is Atlas, I suppose, with the heavens on 
his shoulders. A lovely lawn is witliin, surrounded 
with rose-trees still in bloom, though it be now late 
for roses : and beyond stretches out the palace, — 
marble statues standing in niches in front. Even 
into this strangers are admitted ; but it w^as too late 
then for us. The view is extensive and rich from 
the end of the avenue, which gently, yet constantly, 
ascends all the way from the first gate. 

* * * -x- * ^ * 

Santa Maria Novella. 

July 3d. — This morning we set forth for Santa 
Maria Novella, Michel Angelo's Bride. It was the 
church wdiere Boccaccio's ladies met at the time of 
the plague, and agreed to go away together. I 



FLORENCE. 4;U 

wished particularly to see the famous Maclomia of 
Cimabue, which was so superior to previous paint- 
ings of her, that it was borne through the streets in 
triumphal procession, before being deposited in its 
present chapel. The fagade of this church, one of 
the few that is finished, is encrusted with black 
and white marbles in mosaic. On the right ex- 
tends an arcade, and in each arch is a tomb, a\ itli 
the escutcheon of the person buried sculptured 
or modelled in stucco above. At right angles, on 
the left, is still another arcade, and on this side we 
entered a cloister — the green cloister, so called be- 
cause the frescoes which cover the walls are green 
and brown in tint — a sort of chiar'oscuro. They 
are curious pictures of events m the Old Testament, 
by Uccello and Dello, with a good deal of force and 
the utmost naivete. Beneath these designs are in- 
numerable sepulchral tablets. We walked along till 
we came to an open door, which we entered, and 
found services going on in a large, lofty room, cov- 
ered with frescoes by Taddeo Gaddi and Simon e 
Memmi. It was the Chapter-house. On the east 
side is the triumph of St. Thomas Aquinas. He sits 
in the centre, holding an open book, which he turns 
to the beholders to read. At his feet crouch three 
promoters of heresy. On each hand, in a regular 
line, sit saints, apostles, virtues, and angels. In two 
even rows beneath are fourteen figures — popes, phi- 
losophers, saints, orators, and personified abstrac- 
tions, in rows ; many beautiful noble faces and forms. 



432 NOTES IN ITALY. 

This was by Gaddi, and all the others are by Memmi. 
Opposite St. Thomas Aquinas is a vast composition 
called the Church Militant and Triumphant, contain- 
ing a great many portraits — of Cimabue, di Lapo, 
Petrarch and Laura, and Boccaccio, as well as 
Popes and Kings. On the north side is the Cruci- 
fixion, Christ bearing the Cross, and his Descent 
into Hell. The famous Walter di Brienne is the 
Boman centurion. Opposite are scenes fiom St. 
Domenic's life, as this is a Domenican church, with 
a convent attached. There are windows, beautiful 
mullioned windows, and a great door, which would 
effectually light the frescoes, but they were pro- 

vokingly covered with dark cui'tains, so that it was 

• 

difficult to see them well. Glorious with color and 
form must have been those walls in their first ages ; 
for they are now more than five hundred years old. 
The groined roof meets in a point above, with four 
separate subjects in each compartment. From the 
Chapter-house we returned to the Green Cloisters, 
and were going down a corridor that seemed full of 
paintings and tombs and sculptures, when a custode 
accosted us, and asked if we wished to see the 
Church. We followed him with his key, and he led 
us directly to the sacristy, a lofty, Gothic apartment, 
with the groinings of the roof richly ornamented ; a 
superb window of stained glass, and mahogany 
presses all round, as well as one in the centre of the 
room. An artist was painting, and the custode in- 
troduced us to the originals of his copies. They 



FLORENCE. 4G3 

were three reliquaries by Fra Angelico, little Gothic 
frames, with pictures in the centres, at the foot and 
tops and sides ; and between the central pictures and 
the outside wei'e shut recesses, containing labelled 
relics. I saw small bones, hair, and undistinguish- 
able bits, but I do not know their histories. Here I 
found the Madonna of the Star, a celebrated work 
of Fra Angelico — Mary, standing, in a blue robe, 
holding the infant, with a star blazing over her brow. 
All the faces were finished like miniatures, and the 
drapery was brilliant with primal colors, making car- 
canets of jewels, as Fra Angelico always does ; and 
his ruby and sapphire robes and opaline faces were 
set on a gold background. 

After carefully examining these wonderful gems, 
we went into the church, a dilapidated old place, 
shorn of much glory, but with a sumptuous window 
of painted glass — a rose-window over the principal 
entrance, and a triple mullioned one over the choir. 
A short flight of stairs leads into the Strozzi Chapel, 
covered all over with fi-escoes, by Orgagna. On one 
side is Heaven, and on the other is Hell. The last 
has been injured and mended ; but Heaven is still 
glorious. The Almighty is enthroned highest, Jesus 
and the Virgin Mary are in the next rank, just be- 
neath two beautiful angels ; and around and below 
countless throngs of the ascended Just, their faces 
glowing and beaming with happiness and peace — 
thousands upon thousands. What a work for one 
head and one hand! but what enjoyment Orgagna 

19 



434 NOTES IN ITALY. 

must have experienced in lifting up those m^-riad holy 
brows and ecstatic eyes to the smile of the Eternal 
Father, and the welcome of Christ and the Yirgin ! 

Opposite is the Prince of Evil — no princely state 
has he, however ; but he is a hideous monster, up to 
his middle in a caldron, in which the damned are 
boiling, and he eating them, as they are cooked to 
his taste. This is the central group. Around are 
separate punishments for each sin, which would not 
be pleasant to describe. Behind the altar is the 
Last Judgment, surmounted by a painted window. 
In the Judgment the artist has amused himself with 
putting many lordly personages who did not please 
him, among the cursed ; and, out of a sepulchre, a 
grinning fiend is pulling a poor soul, to torment it in 
unseemly haste, not even waiting for it to come forth. 
Doubtless this soul is a portrait; for painters, as 
well as poets, put their enemies, or those whom they 
believed wicked, into the Inferno without scruple. 
On the other side is also a sepulchre, and from that 
a lovely angel is gently assisting one of the " Blessed 
of my Father" to ascend. Wonderful is the contrast 
between these opposing groups. 

The choir is the work of Ghirlandaio (Domenico). 
One side is the Life of St. John the Baptist, and the 
other the Life of the Yirgin, in a great many com- 
partments. Various portraits are introduced — in 
one group are several of the di Medici — in another, 
artists, and among them Ghirlandaio himself. There 
is the portrait also of a great beauty of that time, 



FLORENCE. 433 

Ginovra de Bcnci. These frescoes are very splendid. 
AVliat prodigies of genius were the masters of those 
days — what patience, invention, and industry ! The 
group of women round the new-born Virgin is grace- 
ful and lovely, and one is robed in cloth of gold. 
All the dresses are magnificent with gold and color, 
and I perceive how splendid must have been this 
choir, with the grace and state and dignity of the 
figures — the true faces and the living movement — 
lighted with prismatic hues from the large triple 
Gothic window of painted glass — before the gold 
was dimmed or the tints faded ; since, even now, it 
is so much more than I can apprehend at one see- 
ing. Above, in four pointed arches of the vault, sit 
four Evangelists, presiding over their pictured gos- 
pels, — grand old men, prefiguring Michel Angelo's 
prophets ; for Ghirlandaio was his master. I have 
not seen in anything of Ghirlandaio, however, the 
tremendous muscular developments which Michel 
Angelo delighted to render. That was " his own 
music," and I cannot like it overmuch, because I do 
not understand anatomy, and prefer the human 
form rounded with " softer solids." 

In the Gaddi Chapel, on the left, is the storied 
Crucifix of Brunelleschi, which he carved in wood, 
after seeing Donatello's, in Santa Croce. Brunel- 
leschi told Donatello that he had cut a peasant and 
not a Christ, and when he had finished his own, 
Donatello was so astonished that he exclaimed with 
generous admiration, " To thee it is granted to make 



436 NOTES ZzY ITALY. 

the Christs, and to me the peasants." I could not 
see the face distinctly enough on account of the dim 
shade of the chapel ; but all I could see of the figure 
was fine : and, at any rate, the magnanimity of Do- 
natello has consecrated it. At last we visited the 
Eucellai Chapel, where the celebrated Cimabue 
Madonna is placed. It has the colossal face which 
Cimabue and his compeers so often drew, on a 
rather less colossal figure, while the infant and the 
a.ngels are of the natural size. But the Virgin's face 
is very much softer and more beautiful than any 
other of Cimabue, without the hard outlines of that 
age — a noble, sweet, and tender countenance, slightly 
bent on a throat disproportionately slender — with a 
hood almost covering the forehead. The fingers of 
the hands are endless and inflexible ; but the baby 
the}^ hold is one of the princely, divine infants, full 
of gi*ace and majesty, and the six angels around, in 
their gold settings, are heavenly jewels of rarest 
beauty. In its first freshness of dazzling gold and 
color, it must have cast an added glory upon the day 
as it passed through the streets of Florence — the 
Holy Child blessing all men with His uplifted little 
hand, and the Madonna winning the worship of the 
thronging crowds by her queenly state and benignity 
of aspect. The angels are absorbed in the beatific 
vision of the Mother and Son. This picture is hung 
between two narrow windows in an unaccountably 
stupid manner ; for the light, glaring into the eyes, 
prevents one from seeing well any part of it. It ia 



FLORENCE. 4.7 

disloyal to Cimabiie to hang his picture so, besides 
being exasperating to any true lover of art. I begin 
thoroughly to approve of the custom of Princes and 
Popes, of which I have heretofore complained — of 
taking masterpieces from churches and placing 
them in galleries ; for in churches they are often 
lost, and in galleries they are found. As Mr. Allston 
once so wisely said, " What is the use of a picture if 
we cannot see it ?" 

The Martyrdom of St. Catharine covers the right- 
hand wall. I looked at it with great interest, be- 
cause some figures in it are said to be by Michel 
Angelo. St. Catharine stands, raising her hands to 
a descending angel, who seems to bring down the 
retribution of heaven ; for the executioners are fall- 
ing about in terror or faintness, and in these writhing 
forms I recognized Michel Angelo. 

Another chapel is painted by Filippo Lippi, with 
traditional miracles on the sides, and the evangelists 
on the ceiling. St. Philip is driving away a horrible 
dragon from the Temple of Mars on one side ; on 
the other, Drusiana is rising from the dead. These 
frescoes were black and dismal, and had not the fi'ee 
grandeur of the Orgagnas and Ghirlandaios ; but 
yet they were very expressive. 

Over the door, leading to the campanile, is a 
Coronation of the Virgin, with glorified saints, by 
Buffalmacco, each head set in its solid golden plate 
— such sincerity and good faith in every line and 
shadow that the attraction and efi'ect are irresistible. 



438 NOTES IN ITALY. 

Sometimes I feel as if academies and rules of pro- 
portion were nuisances, because tliey so often take 
the place of all that is truly valuable in a picture. 
It is like leaving the color out of the rose, and the 
perfume out of the violet — and, indeed, the soul out 
of the body. The inspiration of the old masters 
was from within, a sacred, revered flame ; and with 
it they painted love and prayer and praise and sor- 
row with inevitable power, however strange and hard 
their lines and shapes ; and finally grace and beauty 
of form were added thereunto more and more, till 
Kaphael, with his radiant finger, put the seal on all 
endeavor. Was anything more possible ? Can any 
one transcend him ? 

The Gothic nave is lofty and spacious, and along 
the aisles are small chapels in arches, once filled 
v/itli frescoes, but now mostly in ruin. A marble 
pulpit, richly carved in bas-relief, is built against 
one of the columns of the nave, and over the great 
door, beneath the rose-window, is a crucifix by 
Giotto. The most entire dismantling is of the high 
altar. There is nothing at all left in it but dust and 
defacement, and the church looks desolate and for- 
lorn, though it is one of the grandest in size and 
proportion, and contains so many treasures. 

In the green cloister was a man sitting in a stall 
selling rosaries. He offered me " The Tears of St. 
Job," each tear crystallized into a bead, with a httle 
cross, and I bought them out of love for that patient 
man, and in memory of Santa Maria Novella. 



FLORENCE. 4.b9 

Uffizzi Gallery. 

We then wandered to the Uffizzi. I looked long 
at the Holy Family by Michel Angelo, and now I 
am convinced that Mr. Ware is distraught on that 
point of the Madonna. It is painfully uncomely, 
and expresses nothing of what he so extravagantly 
descants. It is a Madonna of his own fancy that he 
writes about. 

Luini's beautiful Herodias's Daughter is very 
much in Leonardo da Yinci's style. When shall I 
have seen all the chefs-d'oeuvre of the Tribune, I 
wonder ? 

In another room I met the cold, disagreeable, 
handsome Alfieri, whose hard blue eyes are terrible 
from lack of all human kindliness of sentiment. 
Bousseau is much more genial, though by no means 
attractive ; and Madame de Sevigne is lovely, by 
Mignard. So we went on till we came to Sasso 
Ferrato's Madonna of the blue hood. It is most 
tender and sweet, yet cannot be called the Adolorata. 
There is no sword in her heart, but only a pensive 
thought. Her exquisite mouth has never quivered 
with unutterable woe, and her shaded eyes have still 
the capacity to weep — not like Perugino's Mary's, 
drained of tears. 

We were so fortunate as to find the Hall of Bronzes 
open, and we saw at last John of Bologna's original 
Mercury. It certainly is the Mercury of Mercury s. 
Such an airy flight was never before or since repre- 



440 NOTES IN ITALY. 

sented in bronze, marble, or whatever substance. 
He is thrown upon the air completely, and is airier 
for the bronze. A plaster cast carries a heaviness 
with it, besides that casts do not often give a true 
idea of the original. Sometimes they do. Michel 
Angelo's Lorenzo di Medici, and his Day and Night, 
and the noble Minerva Medica are really shadowed 
forth by the Crystal Palace casts : but they are the 
finest in the world. Ah, this Mercury ! He is a 
winged Thought — fit messenger of the gods. The 
little Zephyr, who puffs beneath his imponderable 
foot, has no more work to do than if he were blow- 
ing a bubble. He will be gone quite out of sight in 
an instant — so exquisitely poised, with pointed finger, 
and head thrown back, and form turned, like a 
lovely, slender, voluted shell. 

Benvenuto Cellini's first wax-model of Perseus was 
beneath a glass shade. The statue is far better, 
and the model is only a statuette. There is also a 
bronze model. His superb helmet and shield, made 
for Francis I., we saw, covered all over with the 
most delicate arabesques, and medallions with small 
figures, — the helmet surmounted with a dragon 
chiselled witli finest finish, in all its scales and hor- 
rors. It was deeply interesting, too, to see the 
bronze bas-relief which Ghiberti executed for a spe- 
cimen of his capacity to make the gates of the Bap- 
tistery. It is the sacrifice of Abraham. Tliere is 
also an exceedingly beautiful small statue of David, 
by Donatello. He has killed Goliath, and stands 



FLORENCE 441 

musing. On liis head is a slieplierd's graceful bon- 
net, with a rather broad brim, and a wreath round the 
crown ; and he has such a simple, stripling air, so 
without triumph at his great exploit — he stands so 
musically, so gently, that he pronounces himself the 
sweet Psalmist of Israel, rather than the conqueror 
of a giant. There is force in his delicacy, but it is 
the force of genius, and not of physique. I have 
seen nothing of Donatello that captivated me entirely 
before. 

In the inner hall of very ancient bronzes are rare 
Etruscan treasures ; and among them a Chimera of 
great antiquit}^ still perfect, except its tail, which is 
modern and a serpent. The principal head is that 
of a lion ; and a goat's head shoots up quite un- 
seasonably from behind the lion's. 

A statue of a youth found at Pesaro is fine, and 
curious, from the puzzle it has proved to be to the 
wise. No one can decide whether it be Bacchus, 
Apollo, Mercury, or what. It is now called " The 
Idol." A robed figure, found in the vale of the 
Sanguinetto, on the shores of Thrasymene, has all 
the interest attached to that spot, besides being an 
admirable work. I saw there the very niellos from 
which the art of engraving originated, and they 
looked like dehcate etchings on silver — slightly 
shaded outlines. In the same case were two enor- 
mous rings, with the largest rubies that I think were 
ever put in rings. They must have been for the 
thumb. In the British Begalia there is one as large, 

19* 



443 NOTES IX ITALY. 

but not in a rinsj. There were a oreat many heads 
of Roman standards, the most memorable of which 
was the easfle of the twenty-fourth legion. We had 
not seen half, when we were hurried out, because 
the hour for shutting the gallery had arriyed un- 
awares. But before we left the western side, we 
went to see Michel xlngelo's Bacchus and Faun. 

In the afternoon we yisited churches — first San 
Spirito, close by us. The interior is grand, with its 
rows of columns and lofty, arched aisles, extending 
round the high altar. The high altar and choir are 
contained within a superb balustrade of precious 
marbles and bronze, surmounted by six angels in 
marble, St. John, and the Madonna. The altar is 
inlaid with pietre dure, in flowers and birds and ara- 
besques, and the baldacchino is also ornamented 
with mosaics. The church is the best work of 
Brunelleschi. Entirely round the aisles are chapels, 
and many good pictures in them, and near the en- 
trance is a copy of Michel Angelo's Pieta of St. 
Peter's, and one also of his St. John of Santa Maria 
Sopra Minerya. I became acquainted there with a 
new old painter, Piero di Losimo — new to me, of 
course, I mean ; and I saw a Madonna and Saints, 
by Filippo Lippi — the child Jesus reaching down to 
touch a cross which Httle Jolm holds in his hands — 
all yery noble and loyely ; also a Madonna and four 
Saints by Giotto, the saints beautiful — the whole 
picture worthy of study. An Annunciation, by 
Botticelli, differs from all the paintiugs of his I haye 



FLORENCE. 44:3 

known. The faces of the angel and Mary are round 
and soft, instead of thin and meagre and hard, and 
what is called the motive of tha picture is, as usual, 
sincere and solemn. He allows himself here a little 
beauty of form, instead of regarding the expression 
of devoutness merely. 

A Madonna and Saints, by Perugino, fascinated 
me by the face of Mary — very like the adoring 
mother in the Pitti Palace — a face he could not re- 
peat too often, for it is of the noblest type. While 
we were walking about, the priests and monks of the 
order of St. Augustine, who have a convent attached, 
came in a procession from the sacristy, and knelt 
down in their sweeping black robes upon the marble 
pavement, in two lines, one behind the other, and 
chanted aloud their Ave Maria. It was a w^onderful 
picture. We afterward went into the cloisters, in 
the centre of which was an enchanting lawn, with 
shrubbery and fragrant flowers, in profound quiet, 
and wide, arched loggie around, in which to walk 
and muse, and only the sky above for prospect. 
What a chance and persuasion to be holy have these 
men in outward appliances ; yet how signally it often 
fails, and what a comment it is upon man's arrange- 
ments, when he presumes to improve upon God's 
plans ! What looks so wondrous, wondrous fair. His 
providence teaches us to fear. The wondrous fair 
that can alone be trusted meets neither the eye nor 
the ear nor the touch. He has removed it from all 
possibility of harm or change. Angels only are fit 



444 NOTES IN ITALY. 

to live as monks pretend to live, and hence all the 
sin and woe. The relations of husband, wife, father, 
mother, brother, and sister must be filled by human 
beings, because Infinite wisdom designed the family 
as best for man. It is singular that in monasteries 
and all communities strictly of men, one always has 
a sense of a great want — an emptiness, and an ab- 
sence of thorough order and nicety. They never 
seem clean ; the beauty of holiness and cleanliness, 
which is next to godliness, are lacking. I have a 
shuddering perception of this whenever I am within 
their precincts, though I cannot tell why or how. 

7r w TT vv vr w 

Santa Annunziata. 

July 6th. — This morning we went to the Santa 
Annunziata. It stands in a large piazza, adorned 
by a noble equestrian statue of Ferdinand I., who 
is gazing up at a palace with a most earnest ex- 
pression — and both palace and statue are set to 
music by Mr. Browning."^ It is the old Kiccardi 
Palace, and what is now called the Riccardi in the 
Yia Larga was then the Medici Palace, where the 
Grand Duke Ferdinand lived and had his Feast, at 
which the "one word" passed, heard only by the 
bridegroom ; from which came all her misery. 
There are two fountains in the piazza, and the 
church extends along the whole of one side of it. 

* " The Statue and the Bust." 



FLORENCE. 445 

Another side is filled with the Foundling Hospital, 
which has an arched loggia, and in the lunettes be- 
neath are frescoes. There is also an arched loggia 
to the building on the third side, giving the square 
a very stately aspect. Entering the door of the 
Santa Annunziata, we were in an open court, sur- 
rounded by cloisters, in which were frescoes on the 
walls, by Pontormo, Andrea del Sarto, and Eossi. 
They are considered very precious, evidently, for 
they are enclosed in plate-glass, to keep them from 
the weather. Pontormo's I liked best. He is 
grander than Andrea del Sarto ever is, and was his 
pupil. The interior of the church is magnificent, 
the roof exceedingly rich, and the gold upon it is in 
the utmost sheen and splendor. There are no re- 
markable altar-paintings, except two good ones by 
Perugino, especially an Assumption, with lovely 
angels. In the chapel of John of Bologna are six 
bronze bas-reliefs, by him, and a bronze crucifix, 
which are all admirable. 

The high altar is of solid silver, with a great many 
reliefs, and a silver tabernacle surmounts it. The 
chapel of the Annunziata is as gorgeous as it can be 
made. It holds the miraculous picture painted by 
the angels, as the people truly believe. Eight thou- 
sand pounds have just been spent for a new crown 
for this angelic portrait ; but it is so sacred that it 
is kept veiled, excepting on one or two particular 
occasions in the year, and we could not see it to- 
day. This shrine is erected in a corner of the nave, 



446 ^'OTES IX ITALY. 

and climbs up into a Gotliic point, with a mnltitnde 
of angels, and wreaths, and ornaments. As many 
as fifty Tery large, ever-bnming lamps hung from 
the roof above it, all of silver, and silver vases of 
silver Hhes stand on the silver altar. The people 
were kneeling within and around it in passionate 
adoration. One man stood so loner kissincr the 
shrine and pressing his brow upon it, that he seemed 
fastened by some spell. Forlorn and 's^Tetched 
creatures looked up at the veiled painting as they 
would into heaven itself. There was no sham nor 
lukewarm prayer-mumbling in all the throng. 
Alongside the chapel is an oratory, very rich with 
pietra-dura mosaics, emblems of the Virgin — roses, 
lilies, stars — and the floor is of marbles. Little stalls 
and tabernacles of beautiful forms surround it, and 
in some of them stand vases of jasper and precious 
stones. It is a wonderful oratory, and sanctified by 
devout homage, I am sure. From one of the tran- 
septs we found our way into the cloisters, in which 
the lunettes are all painted in fresco with events in 
the hves of the seven founders ; and between each 
are portraits of distinguished members of this order, 
which was that of St. Augustine. One of the fres- 
coes in the cloisters is the Madonna of the Sack, by 
Andrea del Sarto, quite famous ; but I was very 
much disappointed in it. Mary sits upon the ground, 
with the infant in her lap. Her face is round and 
full, without any divine expression. Joseph is seated 
on a sack, with a book. It has a certain free and 



FLORENCE. 447 

flowing style ; but even before being injured by time, 
I do not see how it could ever have been a great 
picture. I cannot discover Andrea del Sarto's merits. 

Coming home, we went to the Palace of the Conte 
Cavaliere Giulio da Montauto, to inquire about his 
villa, which we think of taking ; and then w^e returned 
through the open court of the Strozzi Palace, sur- 
rounded by stone columns and loggie. It looks 
eternal, like the others. 

This evening messengers came fi'om the Count, 
to say we could have his villa. 

July 7th. — This morning I went with J to the 

Museum, and the rest of us to the Pitti Palace. By 

and by Mr. H. and R. joined J and me. J 

and I were faithfully looking at everything, and dying 
of fatigue. We had been through all the precious 
stones, marbles, quartzes, and granites. We had seen 
the great Carbuncle, and no diamonds, because they 
w' ere all put up on the highest shelves ; but spark- 
ling garnets, mild, refreshing emeralds, gorgeous 
amethysts, and endless varieties of opals and chale- 
donies and onyxes. Then we saw specimens of all 
the fishes in the seas — then of all the insects, many 
of which were once living jewels — then of every 
kind of butterfly that had burst out of a chrysalis. 
Then we saw wax models of rare exotics and fruits, 
and a collection of stuffed birds ; and the richest, 
most blazing, fiery splendors of gems, I found on 
throats of humming-birds. One had an amethystine 



448 NOTES IN ITALY. 

breast, which I never saw before — others w^ere of 
bright gold, going through all shades of orange to 
deep dahlia crimson — passing through fire to get to 
crimson — all gradations of blue, fi'om turquoise to 
deep sapphire and midnight blue — and changes of 
shining emerald. There was a bird-of-paradise of 
rare beauty ; and the parrots in a corner looked like 
a fierce autumnal sunset ; and for the first time I saw 
here birds entirely of bright azure (not cobalt, like 
our bluebirds). Then we had another show of beauty 
and of color in the shells. There were two real pearls 
still upon the oyster where they grew, more beautiful 
than any in the British Museum, and lovely opally 
nautili, besides specimens of every other that has 
been created. We had stuffed animals also, and 
their skeletons, and wax models of interiors of ani- 
mals, very curious and very horrid. * ■«■ * ^ 

This extensive museum adjoins the grounds of 
the Pitti Palace, and is a part of the amusements of 
the Grand Duke, which he hospitably shares with 
the people ; for every man, woman, and child in 
Florence can go in freely from ten to three o'clock 
every day. His Grand Grace does not allow of any 
chairs through the whole suite of rooms, and all who 
enter must go into each room in regular order ; and 
not retrace their steps, though they may remain 
hours on the way. Being utterly weary, however, 
I sat down upon some stairs, where no sentinel was 
watching, as I could at the w^orst but be told to get 
up and move on. I was not disturbed. 



FLORENCE. 449 

BoBOLi Gaedens, — San Makco,— etc. 

July 8tli. — This was a day when the Boboli Gar- 
dens are open, and I took R. there to stay as long 
as she Hked. She fetched her jump-rope, and her 
doll Daisy m her little chair, and her fan. (It is 
but a few steps from Casa del Bello.) She also 
took some bread for the swans, and I took a book. 
When we arrived at the Lake of Swans, they were 
in high displeasure, striking out their snowy wings, 
and actually groaning with unmelodious noise. 
They were hungry, and scolding at a man who was 
going upon the island, demanding food of him. He 
threw them some green leaves, which they devoured, 
and then they tiu'ned their magnificent state toward 
K., who was leanins: on the balustrade. Thev ate her 
bread with satisfaction and dignity, and then sailed 
off, in full trim, and we proceeded to a lovely lawn, 
where were many wild-flowers ; and after exhausting 
that, we found still another, where H. jumped rope, 
after tying up her bouquets with grass. Doll Daisy 
sat radiant in her arm-chair, holding her little 
mamma's fan and nosegays. We had all the rust- 
ling, blossoming, fragrant garden of Eden to our- 
selves, and seemed alone on a new earth, after we 
left the lake. At last R. found a dead butterfly, 

which she wished to give to J immediately, and 

so we came home. In the afternoon we drove out to 
Bellosguardo, to see Miss Blagden and tell her about 



450 NOTES IN ITALY. 

our taking the Count Montauto's villa, and she went 
with us to see it. It has forty rooms. 

July 9th. — We celebrated our great day by going 
to San Marco, the home of Fra Angelico, where his 
finest pictures are kept. The church itself is not 
handsome, outside or inside. In one of the chapels 
there is a very ancient mosaic of the Virgin, with 
extended arms, and saints around her. The face 
and figure strangely reminded me of Mrs. Siddons. 
Over the door is the famous crucifix by Giotto, 
which established his fame above Cimabue ; but it 
was difficult to see it in the dim light, it was so 
" high up-hung," though I greatly desired to exam- 
ine it minutely. As far as I could discover, the 
expression of the head of Christ was very beautiful. 
In the chapel of the Salviati are many bronzes, and 
among them a St. John Baptist and some bas-reliefs 
by John of Bologna. St. John is a powerful figure, 
in the act of blessing. The reliefs are placed too 
high to be seen — how unaccountably foolish ! I 
could only discern admirable figures, but no faces. 

The chapel of the Holy Sacrament is inlaid with 
marbles, and contains paintings by Pocetti and a 
new tomb to a Prince Poniatowski ; but except some 
grand and expressive frescoes of saints, there was 
nothing to interest us. The sacristan then took us 
to the cloisters and Chapter-house, where were a 
few of Fra Angelico's works. In the Chapter-house 
is a very large Crucifixion by him, with a predella 



FLORENCE. ' 451 

of saints, but it was not equal to many other of his 
frescoes ; and I was told, to my chagrin, that the 
very best of all no ladies could see ! not even the 
illuminated missal. A French woman was copying 
his great Crucifixion ; but I was so immensely dis- 
appointed and really heart-smitten to find I could 
not get at the inner treasures, that I hardly looked 
at that, or at an}^ of Pocetti's frescoes. I was glad 
to walk up and down the cloisters, exactly where 
Fra Angelico himself had paced, while meditating 
angels, virgins, and saints, and living his holy life. 
He must have consecrated the stones. 

In the church, near the entrance, was a wooden 
image of Christ, sitting with bound hands, and the 
crown of thorns upon his head, from which blood 
was trickling over his figure. An expression of the 
utmost pain is in both face and form. A great 
many candles were burning around this distressing 
object, and a crowd of people were kneeling before 
it ; and the whole chapel was filled with ofi'erings 
from the devout — silver and gold hearts without 
number, chains and all kinds of trinkets ; and 
watches (!) were hung round the neck and arms. 
It was the most extraordinary, repulsive, and even 
grotesque spectacle. Opposite, behind glass, was a 
painted wooden group of the Nativity. The Virgin 
was dressed in white silk, starred with gold, and a 
blue cardinal, edged with gold lace : round her 
neck were several strings of oriental pearls, and 
in her bodice a heap of jewels and rosaries — on her 



453 NOTES IN ITALY. 

fingers a dozen rings, and emerald and gold brace- 
lets on her arms. The baby lay on cloth of gold, 
and every appurtenance was in this gaudy st3de — 
so unlike the manger and the unadorned young 
mother. But these people hear of Mary only as 
" Queen of angels" and " Mother of God," and as 
they do not read the Bible, they know nothing of 
her humble circumstances. 

Finally, we went to the Uffizzi, and in the Tribune 
I saw, for the first time, a picture by Rubens of 
Hercules between Pleasure and Wisdom. The fig- 
ure of Pleasure is as big as a hogshead, and as fat 
as his Bacchus. It is truly laughable in itself ; and 
as it is Yenus, the contrast between it and the Venus 
di Medici, near by, makes it preposterous. One a 
delicate dream of beauty, and the other a large 
portion of the earth's substance. Bubens must 
sometimes have taken beer-barrels for models, and 
touched them off with arms and heads and legs. 
But the picture is so admirable that one feels ex- 
asperated. Titian's Venus is another conception. 
The Madonna of Perugino is noble and affecting ; 
and the child on her knee of the loveliest grace, 
while St. John the Baptist is grand and pensive. 
The expression of the whole picture is sad with 
mighty prophecy and prefigurement of sorrow and 
trial. Wonderful, wonderful is Perugino in mani- 
festing this divine seriousness, and calm, grave 
acceptance of the Cross. At the other side stands 
St. Sebastian, pierced with arrows for the sake of 



FLORENCE. 4.-i3 

the lovely and lioly babe, who is tuiTiing to St. John. 
Again I looked earnestly at Michel Angelo's Holy 
Family, and Mary remains to me entirely without 
beauty, power, or charm of any kind. 

The perfection of the form of the Venus di Medici 
impresses me more and more, and the face loses its 
first effect. From one point it is still sweet and 
dignified, but from others it is simple and simper- 
ing, I fear. It was evidently of secondary interest 
to Cleomenes to elaborate the face ; or perhaps the 
face is not his. 

July 12th. — To-day I went to see a villa three 
miles fi'om Florence, highly recommended for situa- 
tion and convenience and elegance ; but I found it 
had been misrepresented, though it had orange and 
lemon trees, a vineyard, and delicious flowers. It 
was altogether inferior to Montauto, and I concluded 
I did not like it. I brought home a bouquet to Mr. 
H., which taught him all that odors could about 
Paradise ; and while we were feeling rich with this 
nosegay, the bell rang, and a large gipsy-hat-shaped 
basket was presented, filled with fragrant and glo- 
rious flowers from the Villa Tassinari, with Miss 
Howorth's card. There were long branches of noi- 
sette rosebuds, half-bloomed ; every shade of double 
carnations, each one an Arabia of sweetness ; helio- 
trope in profusion, bringing the delicate, yet heavy 
richness of the tropics ; rose and scarlet geraniums ; 
spikes of the trumpet bignonia ; a white blossom of 



454 NOTES IN ITALY. 

the texture of the magnolia, with a scent bewilder- 
ing in delightsomeness ; oleanders, now in perfec- 
tion ; and many others, whose names I do not know, 
— all of them reposing upon a substruction of ver- 
bena, the odoriferous, which has such a spirit in its 
sweetness. Must not the Yilla Tassinari be Eden 
itself? 

Academy of Fine Arts, and othee places. 

July 13th. — We went to the Academy of Arts this 
morning. We wished to see the Peruginos again. 
Mr. H. thought that, in the Pieta, the face of Mary 
has more depth of expression than in the Deposition 
of the Pitti. It certainly seems to express all ; but 
this face appears to be of Mary after the first hours 
have passed, and she no longer gazes in agony to 
find if it be indeed true that he is dead — as in the 
larger picture. She here knows it but too well. 
The sword is deep in her soul, and there is no 
anguish of inquiry. It is all still and hopeless — an 
old and settled misery. They have all been sitting 
and standing here a long time, and no more ask, 
" Can it be?" It is, and they must bear it as they 
best can. There is hardly a face in art to be seen 
like this one of Mary. I think I said of the Mag- 
dalen, when I saw it first, that she was not beautiful. 
But she is beautiful. I felt the other da}^ so deeply 
the overpowering sentiment of her face, that I really 
quite disregarded her features. They are very noble, 
and her hair is rich and golden. Vast and passion- 



FLORENCE. 455 

ate is her sorrow ; but liow different from the inti- 
mate sorrow of the Mother ! I am tempted almost 
to say that no one equals Perugino, when I think of 
these two pictures, added to many others of his 
which I have now seen. In this hall of the Academy 
is a Descent from the Cross, and on the left, a group 
of Marys support the Madonna, who is fainting. 
And now I am ready to exclaim, that never before 
was painted such a form and face as the Virgin's 
here, while every face and form around her are pre- 
eminently lovely and powerful in expression. But 
the fainting Mother ! She has seen the drooping 
head of her Son, as Joseph gently deposes it, and 
the sickness of death has come over her. She is 
drooping too, and will fall directly. A mortal pale- 
ness this instant spreads over her, and one perceives 
the failing of her too agonized consciousness, and 
the heavy, heavy weight of her form collapsing, and 
drawing down the encircling arms of her fiiends. 
It is a group that might make any artist immortal, 
if he had done no more. The upper part of this 
Descent from the Cross is painted by Lippi. It 
seems to me that the adoring Mary in the Pitti, 
folding her hands over the infant ; happy then, yet 
with a prophecy in her heart of something unspeak- 
able in the future of her baby — is the same Mary 
who is fainting in the Descent, and upon recover- 
ing, gazes with such searching, tearful dismay in the 
Deposition — and finally, sits with the beloved form 
extended upon her knees, in this Pieta, completely 



456 NOTES IN ITALY. 

bereaved. It is the same person — the same noble, 
grand, tender conception, which, I believe, has never 
been equalled by any painter in the world. Raphael 
is inimitable in happy Madonnas, lovely, pure, sacred 
young virgins ; but Perugino, the old master, has 
alone portrayed the pathos, grandeur, and religion 
of beauty in the Adolorata. Raphael was not in- 
clined to paint this subject, either because his gay, 
unclouded nature naturally avoided themes so sad, 
or because he saw that Perugino had accomplished 
all that was to be desired in this kind. I cannot 
now remember any sad picture by Raphael. 

We looked at Gentile da Fabriano's wonderful 
Epiphany, in which there is not one ordinary face 
in all the gorgeous group ; and at Lippo Lippi's 
Coronation of the Virgin, crowned by the Et^^nal 
Father, with its exquisite predella, containing the 
annunciation of the death of the Madonna, a miracle 
of genius again ; and I should not wonder if it were 
by Perugino, as he and Lippo Lippi did sometimes 
paint in the same composition together. I scribbled 
a miserable little sketch of it in my note-book. The 
tender reserve of Gabriel, the majestic sweetness of 
Mary as she takes the torch ! Whence could come 
the inspiration of these men, if not straight from 
heaven, where they sought it ! They must have 
prayed before they drew a stroke, and then a host 
of angels guided their pencils. Could any one but 
an angel have painted his brother Gabriel in this 
predella ? 



FLORENCE. 457 

Now-a-clays tlie angels seem to be farther off^ driven 
away by profane artists. 

July 14tli. — In the afternoon I drove with U. 
and R. and Ada to Bellosguardo to meet the young 
Count and his steward at the Yilla Montauto, to 
make arrangements. The Count was resolved to 
speak English, and we had rather a confused inter- 
view, because he did not speak it very well ; but I 
made him understand that we would go to the Villa 
on the fii'st of August. 

July 15th. — This morning we went to the Bargello, 
the old palace of the Podesta, hoping to get in to 
see its treasures, especially Giotto's Dante. We 
mounted its fine old staircase in the court, and, with 
a grate between us, talked with an officer, who said 
we could not go in without the custode, who was 
then to be found at the Riccardi Palace. All round 
the walls of the building were the arms of the various 
persons who had held the power, cut in stone, other- 
wise we were none the richer for our attempt. So we 
got admittance into the Church of La Badia, opposite 
the Bargello. The ceiling is of richly carved woods, 
and it is in the form of a Greek cross. There are 
two marble monuments by Miuo da Fiesole, and a 
good china bas-relief of the Virgin by Luca della 
Robbia, and Filippo Lippi's best easel picture of 
the Madonna with angels, appearing to St. Bernard. 
A beautiful light campanile belongs to La Badia, 

20 



458 NOTES IN ITALY. 

whicli is always a graceful feature of the views of 
the city. 

At the Uffizzi, we found the bronze room open, 
and looked again at the Mercury of John of Bologna, 
and Benvenuto Cellini's colossal head of Cosmo I. 
The mngs on the cap and feet of Mercury are su- 
perfluous, for he is absolute Wing. In the cabinet of 
ancient bronzes we looked at the small Etruscan 
groups which were mended by Benvenuto Cellini in 
the presence of Cosmo I., who was so fond of seeing 
him put on little legs, arms, and feet, that he hindered 
the progress of Perseus, by constantly demanding 
that he should work upon them at the Palace. 

In the cabinet of gems, two crystal cups, with gold 
covers, were his, — the crystal exquisitely cut, and 
the covers enamelled, and adorned with gems. One 
would think he must have had the finger-tips of a 
fairy. How astonishing that the man who could 
model a demigod in his fair proportions, tossing him 
through the foundry in a thunder-gust, should also 
so compose his hand and eye as to fashion tiny 
figures for ladies' rings, brooches for Popes and 
Princes, in designs as delicate and fine as frost-work, 
with arabesques of spider-thread tenuity. 

In the afternoon I took a drive with Miss Blagden 
and U., and we went to the great silk establishment 
of Lombardi, in the Piazza Maria Antonia, which 
seemed a fine palace, and not a house of merchan- 
dise. Upon entering, what was my surprise to find 
ourselves in a room hung round with the original" 



FLORENCE. 459 

drawings of Raphael, Michel Angelo, Murillo, and 
other masters ! We bought silk, and then the grand 
Lombardi invited us up-stairs, " to see," he said, " his 
little Baphael." Here were three fine drawing- 
rooms, adorned with oil-paintings, and among them, 
under a golden caoop^^ a Yirgin and Child by 
Raphael — a simple, pure, lovely picture, in his first 
style. This was a wonder, to be sure ! Where 
could he have obtained them all, and how ! He 
asked us for " our revered names^'' and begged us to 
call at any time to enjoy his treasures. It is plain 
enough, I suppose, that he has money, and that 
for money, enough of it, one can purchase even a 
Raphael. Princes are often rich only in masterpieces 
of genius, while merchants are rich in the gold that 
princes need, and so the exchange is made. Happy 
is Lombardi to know so well what money is good 
for. He has made a shrine for his precious " little 
Raphael" — a tabernacle, perhaps of pure gold, which 
shows his appreciation of it. After this most un- 
expected delight, we drove to the Cascine, where all 
the beauty and fashion of Florence were abroad, 
walking and sitting in various splendid equipages, 
listening to a glorious band of music. It Avas a 
scene one dreams of, but seldom sees. 

* # -x- * -se * 

PiTTi Palace. 

July 19th. — We went to-day to the Pitti Palace. 
I find that there are two portraits of Ippolito di 



460 NOTES IN ITALY. 

Medici, one by Titian and one by Pontormo. 
Titian's is superb. He is in a Hungarian dress, 
buttoned up to the throat, which is very becoming, 
when a handsome head and face are shut off in that 
way. He stands with a wonderful dignity and 
grace, and his features and style of head are of 
fascinating beauty, though I am sure he is not a 
good man. He looks dark and treacherous, with a 
princely state, worthy of a higher character. The 
Madonna della Seggiola is a sumptuous flower of 
rainbow colors, all softened and blended. The child 
is grand, with his wonderful gray eyes looking into 
the future, pure and limpid as the twilight sky. 
And his mouth is the richest blossom of innocence, 
peace, and charity that ever bloomed fi'om the 
palette. This is in Raphael's third style, and the 
Madonna of the Grand Duke is in his second style, 
with reserved mouth and lily lids, half closed, like 
curved petals over the soul of her beauty. She has 
an air of having nothing more to do with the world, 
and so she does not look out upon it ; henceforth 
pondering over her own heart. The soft, prophetic 
splendor of the Seggiola infant's eyes is not seen in 
this babe's. These are harder ; but the head is 
noble. 

While we were occupied with the pictures, the 
military band struck up in the Piazza before the 
Palace, as usual at that hour, and glorified the com- 
mon day, and added life to the painted forms and 
faces. We came down and went into the magnifi- 



FLORENCE. 4G1 

cent cortile of tlie Palace, wliicli Liica Pitti said 
might hold within it the Palazzo Strozzi ; and walked 
round it, listening to the music. 

In the afternoon, J and I went to the Carmine, 

where the frescoes of Massaccio and Lippi fill one 
chapel. Michel Angelo and Eaphael considered 
them worth studying and copying. St. Paul visit- 
ing St. Peter in prison, on a pilaster, resembles 
Kaphael's St. Paul preaching at Athens, though 
Massaccio's stands with his back to the on-looker. 
Nero, commanding the death of St. Paul, is a perfect 
Nero, an epitome of all the marbles of him. The 
grandeur, force, expression, and fire of these faded 
old frescoes are marvellous, while the outlines are 
hard. The drawing, also, is siiperb. The light was 

not good, and J was impatient, and could not 

conceive what I wished to stay in such a dismal 
place for. So I deferred my study of them, and we 
crossed the Arno by the Santa Trinita bridge, and 
went into the Church of the Santa Trinita to see 
Ghirlandaio's frescoes. But a priest came to tell 
me that the morning was the only good time for 
them, and I found I could distinguish nothing ; so I 
looked at a singular wooden statue of Mary Magda- 
len, near the entrance. She is nude ; but clothed in 
the torrents of hair, which flow round and envelop 
her figure like a mantle, excepting her w^asted arms 
and feet. The face is profoundly woful, hollow, and 
worn ; with large, cavernous eyes of piteous apj^eal, 
and a mouth of great humility and contrition. Yet 



463 NOTES IN ITALY. 

tlie features are perfectly beautiful, tliougli so wasted. 
I could fancy tlie countenance, and build it up from 
these wrecks — fresh, round, happy, and brilliant. 
Now it is a shadow. It was a bold thought of the 
sculptor to venture such a statue, but it was evi- 
dently executed when an inward religious sentiment 
inspired artists, with no regard to outward comeli- 
ness. J was very naturally astonished that I 

could look a moment at anything so ugly, he said ; 
for what could he, in the early morning of life and 
experience, have within him, to interpret such a face 
and figure ? I should have lamented, if he had been 
attracted or impressed with it. One must at least 
live and love and fail to reach the ideal, to under- 
stand such a conception. J understood better 

the glorious sunset over the Apennines, which was 
changing the Arno into jasper and chalcedony, and 
sending isles of the blest of purest gold, to float 
over the blue sea of space above ; while San 
Miniato, toward the east, with its grove of solemn 
cypresses, became soft in a veil of rose-purple, 
which floated down over the palaces at the base of 
the transfigured hill, upon which the church stands. 
During one precious half-hour before the great al- 
chymist disappears, there is no end of the splendors 
his parting glance throws over every object. He 
has gone, and in a moment the mountains are no 
longer " the Delectable," the isles of the blest are 
blots of ink, the domes and palaces dull stones and 
not jewels, and all is gray, except a deep radiance 



FLORENCE. 4G3 

just above the bed of state. That remains, and 
often sends out rays of pale color that lose them- 
selves in the purple black abysses, through which the 
stars, one by one, and suddenly in innumerable hosts, 
gleam out upon their watch. 

July 22d. — To-day I took the children v^dth Ada 
to see the plate at the Pitti Palace, because wo 
heard that some of it was designed and cut by Ben- 
venuto Cellini and John of Bologna. We saw an 
entire service of gold, and another of silver, with 
plates, knives, forks, and spoons, and dishes enougli 
for a dukedom, and epergnes of lovely design, chased 
and jewelled. But all these were merely costly. 
There were, however, a few exquisite goblets and 
vases and cups enamelled and gemmed by Benve- 
nuto Cellini, and a great many salvers covered with 
figures by eTohn of Bologna, as well as a large niello 
by him, and crucifixes in gold, silver, bronze, ivory, 
and precious stones, by both. For gorgeousness, 
merely, there was a shrine three feet high, made en- 
tirely of gold, pearl, and precious stones, with little 
figures of coralline and jasper and amethyst ; but 
we were hurried by the guard, and my memory of it 
all is only a confused sort of glory. 

We went into the gardens after leaving the pal- 
ace, to look at four unfinished statues by Michel 
Angelo, now in a grotto with other old marbles 
and busts. These unfinished works of Michel An- 
gelo give me a more vivid sense of his mighty powder, 



464 - NOTES IN ITALY. 

than even liis finished statues. In them we see him 
struggling T\dth the stone, and wrenching from it the 
forms imprisoned within. Bjron sings of " his chisel, 
driven into the marble chaos, bidding Moses stop the 
waves in stone," and so we seem to see it plunging 
and delving in these Pitti blocks. It is more hke 
Milton's description of creation than anything else. 

July 23d. — To-day Louisa and Annie Powers ac- 
companied, us to the Guadagni and Corsini galle- 
ries. That of the Guadagni is very small. There 
are many portraits by Sustermans, and one lovely 
Madonna by Raphael in his second style ; pure, sa- 
cred, serene, without the deep richness of his thii^d 
manner. But the gallery is particularly famous for 
its two very large landscapes by Salvator Eosa, to 
which a separate cabinet is assigned. There are 
groups of small figures in them, and the scene is a 
great wilderness with mighty trees. I had not time 
to become at all acquainted with them, for the young 
people did not feel interested ; and so we proceeded 
to the Corsini, on the Lung' Arno. It is the richest 
private collection in Florence. We found the sa- 
loons covered with carpets — an unprecedented cir- 
cumstance in galleries. There were beautiful pic- 
tures, and quite a crowd of " Sweet Charleses" (as 
Mr. H. calls Carlo Dolce), and I do not like his 
works, with one or two exceptions. His famous 
Poesie I do not fancy at all. Everything feminine 
is too sweet, except the Madonna in the Grand 



FLOHENCE. 465 

Duke's chamber in the Pitti, but some of his saints 
are fine, though too metallic. It was worth while to 
come here, if only to see Raphael's cartoon in pen- 
cil of his portrait of Julius II. It has all the im- 
mense power of will and thought of the oil-painting, 
and so far verifies Mr. Powers' assertion, that color 
is not needful to expression. This drawing is of the 
size of life, and finished with the utmost nicety and 
truth. It is a wonder and a beauty and a lesson to 
observe how the greatest masters carefully and 
faithfully and patiently elaborated their work, never 
disdaining an exhaustive perfection in each item. 
"What a vast labor is here, and not a line is omitted 
or hurried ! It w^ould seem as if Raphael had an 
eternity to work in, for he was never in haste ; yet 
what an enormous amount he accomplished — dying 
too in early manhood ! Michel Angelo, to be sure, 
did not show patience always, though he has left 
careful drawings. His genius seemed an Ate, lash- 
ing him with her brand often. Yet there sit the sub- 
lime prophets and sibyls in infinite calm ; and the 
lovely form of Eve is the ideal of woman, delicate 
and new from the hand of the Creator, as if she 
peacefully dawned upon bis mind, as he sat musing 
on primal beauty. There was a small copy of his 
Last Judgment, in brilliant color, as it originally 
blazed on the walls of the Sistine Chapel, before 
some of the figures were draped by order of the 
pseudo-modest Pope, who insisted upon the resur- 
rection of jackets and breeches. The hues of this 

20* 



4G6 NOTES m ITALY. 

copy are a revelation to me of the dazzling splendor 
of all those Sistine frescoes, in their first freshness. 
How stupid and short-sighted to smoke and spoil 
such divine productions with candles and incense- 
vapors, instead of reverently learning from them how 
to worship ! Their deepest significance seems to 
have been lost upon the age that produced them. 
Through the mist and smutch of centuries we grope 
for them, almost in vain. I shall like to see what 
is to supply their place. 

As I think now of a picture of the Resurrection, 
by Perugino, in the Vatican, and recall the perfectly 
beautiful and noble face of Raphael in early youth, 
as one of the sleeping soldiers, I perceive that Peru- 
gino must have taken him for a model for the 
noblest of his Madonnas — that of the Pitti Palace. 
I see the strong resemblance in the contour — the 
exquisite bow-like mouth, the moony eyelids, and 
the serene, smooth brow, so compact with mind. I 
wonder if any one ever noticed this. 

In one of the saloons we saw a vase of marvellous 
beauty of design and execution — bronze, about two 
feet high. I exclaimed that it must be by Ben- 
venuto Cellini, and the custode said it was so. It 
represents, in bas-relief, the triumph of Bacchus. 

Ada tried to draw it on the spot, but in the midst 
the custode told her she must not do it, for it was 
forbidden. I suppose the Prince Corsini is afraid 
that some artist will attempt to imitate it, and then 
he would not have the only one in the world. But 



FLORENCE. 4G7 

why slioukl he ? He cannot prevent my remembering 
it, however, so distinctly that I can sketch it here at 
home. The figures are of enchanting grace — and 
the baby Bacchus on the panther and the whole pro- 
cession as perfect as possible. 

After tea we took a walk to the Ducal Villa, going 
out of the Porta Romana, and making a great cir- 
cuit, so that we entered the city again by the Porta 
San Miniato. The avenue of cypresses and other 
trees leading to the Yilla itself was very pleasant, as 
E. and I experienced the other day, with the beauti- 
ful hills on each side. U. undertook to be our guide, 
but misled us between endless stone walls, from one 
opening of which, where a church stood, we caught 
a glimpse of the Val d'Arno, and then were again 
swallowed up, till we arrived unexpectedly at the 
gate of San Miniato. The moon rose during our 
walk, and wrapped us in silver-fire — which odd com- 
bination of words alone can convey an idea of the 
glowing splendor of Italian moonlight. Upon enter- 
ing the city, we crossed the Ponte Vecchio, so as to 
see the Arno flooded with light. Upon any one of 
the bridges over the Arno, at sunset, moonrise, or 
starlight, all poetry and visible art combine to make 
the scene wondrous, besides that nature lends a hand 
in the river, the mountains, and the cypress-crowned 
heights, immediately around Florence. 

I wish I could seize something elusive and un- 
satisfactory in the divine loveliness of this Italy, so 
as to express what I always feel when I look upon 



468 NOTES IN ITALY. 

it. There is a clream-like quality in my enjoj-ment, 
and I cannot bring it home to a sober certainty. It 
is like the ghost of a very precious reality. It is 
something that has been, even while it is note that I 
have a sense of it. Italy is a land of monuments ; and 
those who builded them have long passed away. A 
mighty silence succeeds them. Even the people in 
the streets of to-day seem like puppets galvanized 
into motion, and the real, living, grand beings are no 
more. There is a pause in all rare achievement. 
The cunning hand, the unerring eye, are nowhere 
to be met with, though marvellous works attest their 
former existence. It would not be surprising, but 
far less strange than the present state of things, if 
all the masters in Art, in State, and in Science, who 
stand clothed in white marble in the Court of the 
Uffizzi, were to descend from their pedestals and 
walk the streets of their beloved Florence. They 
would be more fitting and proper to the place than 
those persons whom we meet to-day. The latter 
are, as it were, empty chrysalids — deserted shells. 
Something has scared away souls — and only automa- 
tons remain. Perhaps the Medici were the cause of 
this death and void — the Medici, and then this 
present race of Grand Dukes. When a prince takes 
the form of a monkey, he ought to be deposed. The 
land seems catching its breath. It is not dead, but 
oppressed and suffocated. I cannot put my feeling 
into words, and I may as well not try to do so. 

4f * * * * * 



FLORENCE, 400 



Or San Michele. 



July 28tli. — To-day we went again to Or San 
Michele, and very exactly scrutinized the wonderful 
Tabernacle by Orgagna. It was built to contain a 
miracle-working picture of the Virgin. Or San 
Michele is one of the glories of Florence. It was 
once an open loggia, — large arches, supported on 
pillars, a sort of mart. In one corner hung this 
picture, which was of such repute and efficacy, that 
there was a perpetual throng about it. Then Or- 
gagna raised for it this magnificent shrine; and 
finally the loggia was closed up, and became a 
church, and windows were put in of the richest 
painted glass, and the pillars were covered with 
frescoes, lately again brought to light. The various 
Guilds of the city have a hall over the church, and 
the building is lofty and noble ; and outside, around 
it, are arched stalls, containing masterpieces of 
sculpture. Above the niches are medallions by 
Luca della Robbia, and, at this moment, all these 
niches and medallions are undergoing a thorough 
cleansing and repairing, in gorgeous style. Six are 
already finished, and each is different from the 
others in its mosaic of marbles, precious stones, and 
gold. One of them is of lapis-lazuli, with golden 
stars — like a midnight starry sky. 

The tabernacle is of white marble, and bas-reliefs 
are sculptured over it. Some of them have back- 



470 -^ NOTES m ITALY. 

groimds of lapis-lazuli, upon which the figures are 
well defined, and there are borders to the separate 
groups of inlaid pietre dure and gold. It is Gothic 
in form, and every pinnacle flames with the fire of 
genius, held fast by cunning workmanship ; and 
statuettes throng about it, angels, saints, virtues, 
prophets, all rising to one central point, upon which 
stands the archangel Michael, the power of God, 
embodied, fit apex to such a shrine. The subjects 
of the reliefs are the never-wearying incidents in the 
life of the Madonna and of Christ, and behind is a very 
large sculpture of the death of the Virgin, wdth her 
Assumption above. This death and the Assumption 
are among the most beautiful of the Catholic legends, 
and give the noblest field for the display of art. 
The dying holy mother — the grave and stately apos- 
tles — the angels in waiting for the passing spirit — 
the reverent, sad silence — and then the sudden burst 
of joy — the rush of wings and flutter of robes, the 
glorified, enraptured ascended one — the trumpets, 
viols, dulcimers, and harps, weaving the air into an 
involved web of melodious ecstasy — the Eternal 
Father opening the heavens to look down, and the 
Dove, with outspread wings — or Christ in his own 
form, ready with the crown for Mary's brow — what 
more could mortal artist wish for the inspiration of 
his genius and for its expression ? 

I wish now that all the masterpieces of the past 
could be thoroughly restored in the way in which 
the Florentines are now restoring the exterior of 



FLORENCE. 471 

Or San Micliele. For now it is wortli wliile, because, 
probably, no more barbarians will come to ravage 
Italy, and no more mad and stupid fanaticism will 
demolish works of art. Everything in architecture 
might be completely renovated in all old countries, 
though the divine frescoes and paintings must 
graduall}^ vanish. But if we could only retain the 
Temples and Cathedrals, and renew their ruined por- 
tions while enough remains sound to indicate what 
they once were, what a glory it would be ! The 
Campanile must never crumble away, and the 
Duomo must never lose one of its bits of inlay, and 
presently it must show a fagade worthy of its heaped 
up grandeur in all other parts. Is there anything 
significant in the singular fact that scarcely one of 
the churches puts on a fair face ? I sometimes wish 
I could clear away all modern Home, and set out 
again the temples and palaces of the ancient city. 
But we cannot hold on to those marvellous produc- 
tions, and I doubt not there is a good reason why 
not. I should like to see what is to follow that will 
be better than they. A better comprehension of 
Beligion and Life may develop a hidden power of 
art ; though, really, if I would see more divine faces 
than those of Perugino and Raphael, I think I must 
ascend to another world, and not look into the 
future of this. 

Toward sunset we drove out to the Yilla Mon- 
tauto, to take the inventory and keys. We found 
everything in order, all the muslin curtains in the 



472 NOTES IN ITALY. 

bedrooms snowy and fresh, and an inhabitable air 
in the house. Without, the grounds and prospect 
were in princely state and beauty. 

BeLLOSGUARDO. — YlLLA MONTANTO. 

August 6th, 1858. — We came to this delightful 
Villa on the 1st of August. ****** 

This evening there has been a superb sunset. At 
the northwest, over the mountains was a wonderful 
cloud, shaped exactly like a wing, of downy gold 
and purple and crimson tints, and of gigantic size, 
as one might fancy an archangel's to be. A truly 
feathery fleeciness pervaded the mighty pinion. As 
the twilight deepened, storm-clouds accumulated 
about the mountain, and presently vivid lightning 
flashed beneath the wing, which still, liowever, 
brooded in immovable calm over all the tumult, 
like the Spirit of God over chaos. In contrast to 
the rage and confusion of the elements in that 
quarter — toward the southeast, opposite, was a 
broad, golden Peace, which, by degrees, seemed to 
concentrate and bloom into a large star, a flower of 
light (as I have heretofore called stars) — and it 
gleamed, undisturbed and unflickering, like the eye 
of a seraph ; and was not that his wing on the other 
side? 

August 7th. — The dawn was broken by a violent 
wind, which sounded like the ocean in fiercest anger. 



FLORENCE. 473 

We seemed not on tlie crest of a gentle Val d'Arno, 
but on the shores of the northern seas. Upon 
looking out, I found it did not rain, and the atmos- 
phere became quiet enough after breakfast for U. 
to go to her drawing lesson in Florence with Miss 
Bracken. 

A Magician's Treasures. 

August 11th. — To-day Miss Blagden took us to 
see Mr. Kirkup, the antiquary, artist, and magician. 
He lives directly upon the Arno, in an old palace of 
the Knights Templar. He is of the age of the 
Wandering Jew, with snow}^, silken hair and drifting 
beard ; a delicate, elegant figure, handsome features, 
and fair, taper hands. He lives with only a tiny 
daughter, a little dark-eyed fairy, just fit to be a 
daughter of a magician. She was dressed in white 
muslin, and so delighted to see visitors that she 
kept up a continual musical laughter, varied with 
shrill shouts, as she played about us with her kitten. 
The kitten was very pretty and in wonderful har- 
mony with the scene — a kind of familiar spirit of 
Mr. Kirkup. There were two large apartments, 
filled with pictures, books, and curiosities, em- 
broidered with the dust of a century. The gentle- 
man had known Byron and many notable persons, 
of course, and on his walls are portraits of famous 
people, and sketches innumerable. He is rich in 
old manuscripts and missals, illuminated. A manu- 



474 K0TE8 US' ITALY. 

script of tlie Divina Commedia lie showed Mr. H. 
with great pride, and I peeped at it too. It was on 
fine vellum, delicately written in black-letter by some 
learned monk, and brilliantly painted with pure 
colors, in that perfect way which it seems hopeless 
to try to imitate now-a-days. The unerring finish 
of these miniatures gives an idea of preternatural 
powers, and though the drawing is sometimes in- 
correct, it does not matter, for it is a part of the 
character of illuminations to have the quaint figures 
of not exact anatomy, just as stained glass becomes 
impertinent and vulgar, if one finds careful academic 
rules followed. These things are triumphs of color, 
not of form. A cathedral window must look like a 
jewelled ephod, at the first glance — a bewildering 
blaze of splendor. By and by, with earnest looking, 
the various tints unfold themselves into blessed faces 
and shapes of rudest lines, or rather of no lines, but 
bright blurs and passionate daubs of ruby, sapphire, 
and gold. What seemed a gem becomes an im- 
23ossible foot or hand. An ecstasy or a sadness or a 
devoutness is somehow conveyed into the expression 
of the features, and the drapery is designed for 
color to lavish itself upon. When we hear of the 
angels being arrayed in light, we probably fancy a 
silver, white light. But it is no doubt light broken 
into the seven different hues rather, and these stained 
windows and missal paintings shadow those rai- 
ments. Somewhere in England I saw a painted 
window by Sir Joshua Reynolds, and it was an en- 



FLORENCE. 475 

tire failure, for lie liad designed a regular picture of 
some scene. Who 'wishes to have a cathedral 
lighted by an elaborated, correct, academical com- 
position ? We do not feel patient to observe a set 
purpose, because then form intrudes, and we must 
have prisms, and, in the oldest colored glass, the 
forms are sharp-sided, like prisms. Dear me ! how 
I have wandered from Mr. Kirkup ! He was 
very curious in relics of Dante, and he was one of 
those two persons who discovered the beautiful 
young Dante in the chapel of the Bargello, beneath 
the plaster, painted by Giotto, and he showed us his 
original tracing from it. The eye is wanting, for the 
workman found a nail driven through it, and instead 
of filing it down, or gently driving it in, he ruthlessly 
pulled it out, and the eye with it. But it is a deli- 
cately fine profile view of his face, with an aquiline 
nose, a mouth of pure curves and infinite melan- 
choly, and clear, arched brow — stately, proud, but 
sweet also, then. The lips look ready to curl in 
scorn, however, and it is a wonderfully haughty face. 
Mr. Kirkup has also the very cast taken of his face 
after death. The long, heavy bitterness of exile has 
drawn down the curves of his mouth in the plaster 
head. The cheeks are furrowed with pain and in- 
dignation. The angelico riso of the divine Beatrice 
has not been able to smooth out of his countenance 
the stern anguish of his heart at the very last even. 
Perhaps he did not love quite enough and hated too 
much, and so his fate mastered him, and not he his 



476 NOTES IN ITALY. 

fate. It seems as if nations made a point of putting 
all their greatest men to despair — completely deso- 
lating the earth for them ; and then, when fame 
can be nothing to them, when they can no longer 
suffer, or feel joy or favor, worldly wrong or neglect, 
at the safe distance of a century or two, behold 
how thickly fall the honors ! How the heavens are 
fretted with pinnacles raised to their memories, and 
over their remains ; their remains indeed ! How 
cathedrals are crowded with their monuments ! how 
cities fight for their bones ! how Genius prays to cut 
out their glory in marble, or emblazon it upon can- 
vas, or fresco it on walls ! It would seem as if the 
illustrious were obliged to compromise the matter, 
and that the account stood in this way : 

For a given quantity of postli unions homage I must submit 
to pay, 

One starved, houseless body — 
One broken, desolate heart — 
A life \vretch(;d from calumny — 
An indefinite amount of utter neglect — 
A total want of appreciation — 
Imprisonment in cells and madhouses — 
Subjection to the Torture, and 
Dreary, prolonged, exile I 

How costly, then, is earthly renown ! Often just 
when every heart and purse are open, the kind 
angel of death removes the sufferer " beyond the 
utmost scope and vision of calamity." There is 
doubtless a meaning in this, and it is best for 



FLORENCE. 477 

the victim, tliougli not for those who wrong him, 
certainly. 

We saw a portrait of Trelawny in his eastern 
dress — a handsome man, but not trust-inspiring ; 
and a youthful head of Leigh Hunt, and many pic- 
tures and portraits which I should like to have 
known about. But Mr. Kirkup is excessively deaf, 
and I could not shout at him, nor request any one 
else to scream for me. There was a bust of Machi- 
avelli, a horrid head and face, though it is now said 
he has been much traduced. But his own head tra- 
duces him worst of all. 

The magician had also a mystical, magical con- 
trivance, with a lady inside, not then in working- 
order, reminding me of the conjurations of the 
wizard Cornelius. Mr. Kirkup is also a magnet- 
izer, and his little Imogen is a medium, so that he 
converses through her with dead emperors, and dis- 
covers how they have been poisoned and otherwise 
ill-treated while on earth. 

August 13th. — To-day I went to Florence alone, 
quite early, so as to go to Santa Trinita, while the 
light was good for Ghirlandaio's frescoes. Our 
villa is but fifteen minutes from the city gate. I had 
a very nice chance ; for the morning sun poured 
through a window of the clerestory, directly into the 
chapel. But the frescoes are excessively defaced. 
The Death of St. Francis is better preserved than 
the rest. I saw the youth, in the group behind the 



478 NOTES IN ITALY. 

child raised from the dead, who was called " II 
Bello" on account of his eminent beauty. In the 
upper compartment there are other portraits, which 
I could not well see, so high up as they are. 

There is passionate grief and also grave sorrow 
in the many figures round the dying saint. Some 
kneel to kiss the hands, and one the feet, and a 
group of solemn priests stand at the head, folded in 
their mantles, grand in sentiment and expression. 
There is never a superfluous line in the old master- 
pieces. It is all a matter of conscience, and a perfect 
unity of purpose commands the conception. Here 
it is the mystery of death. The ineffable peace that 
pervades the face and form of St. Francis is draw- 
ing all emotions into itself. A ti uly awful majesty 
wraps the gi'oup at the head of the bier. So, in the 
composition of the child brought to life by the saint 
appearing in the heavens, there is wonder, rever- 
ence, and faith in all who are present. The little 
child rises upon its death-bed with devout, folded 
hands. After looking at the scene a few minutes, a 
powerful influence comes from it which Ghirlandaio 
left there. There is hope and joy in the upturned 
faces, but they have become so dim now, that there 
is an inconsolable feeling caused by the conviction 
that they will soon be invisible ! How can it be 
borne ! And on the left of the chapel, the damp 
has nearly obliterated everything. 

I looked again at the Magdalen in wood, of which 
I have written before, the truly repentant Magdalen, 



FLORENCE. 479 

and it was more affecting to me than at the first 
seeing even. The sincere sorrow of the eyes pene- 
trates the heart, and I stood a long time drawn to it. 

Afterward, at the Uffizzi, I got so very tired that 
I can recall no impressions, except from a small copy 
in crayon which a young artist was making from the 
large Nativity, by Gherardo della Notte. His work 
had the finish of the finest engraving, and far more 
richness. He was evidently making a model for 
photography or engraving. The needle-point of his 
crayon effected touches as delicate as those of a 
graving instrument, and the light and shade were 
consummate. The darkness had the depth of an 
abyss in it, and the dazzle of light from the Holy 
Child was truly spiritual, far finer in effect than that 
of the original picture. The young man was thin and 
pale, as if he were himself four-fifths soul. I dare 
say his eyes were like great deep nights, but I did 
not see them. Oh, if he would only rescue the fading 
frescoes for mankind with his pencil ! 

To rest, I went to the Church of Santo Spirito, so 
beautiful with its majestic colonnades and ruby 
lights forever burning at the superb altar of Floren- 
tine mosaic ; and I sat there in peace and quiet for 
an hour. Meanwhile the priests came in, as once 
before when I was there, and chanted their evening 
service, but I could not see them from my seat. 
There were several persons, saying their prayers, 
with their rosaries, in the nave, and acolytes were 
crossing in the distance, with lamps and salvers and 



480 NOTES IN ITALY. 

copes, but witli no sound. All was still, except the 
voices of the chanters, rising and falling like waves 
in a summer sea. If there were always heart and 
truth in these monks and prelates, real, rehgions 
worship, how deep would be our emotions during 
these imposing functions ! But I am always sensible 
of hollowness and emptiness in every ceremony I 
see ; and especially with the ennui and inward dis- 
gust of the priests themselves, who seem very 
anxious to get through the endlessly repeated task, 
so as to go and eat and drink and be merry. Yet 
there are doubtless many among them truly devout. 
The appearance of the clergy in Florence is almost 
invariably repulsive and gross, and they are said to 
be peculiarly depraved. They are mostly fat, with 
flabby cheeks, chins, and throats, of very earthly 
aspect. There is nothing to compare them to but 
hogs, and they merely need to stoop upon their 
hands to be perfect likenesses of swine, so that the 
encounter of one of them in the street gives one a 
faint sensation. It is shocking that such men are in 
holy garb, set apart for the constant worship of God, 
and, under cover of superior sanctity, becoming the 
most corrupt of human beings. Such blasphemy of 
the Holy Spirit seems to blot out the sun, and poison 
the air ; but I think there must be good persons 
enough among them to bear witness — or how could 
these monasteries uphold themselves ? "A lie can- 
not stand," says our great philosopher. 

The stately architecture of Brunelleschi, the rich 



FLORENCE. 481 

gloom and repose, the saints and angels in marble 
and picture, all lacked something to me to-day. I 
could not define what, but I came away dissatisfied, 
and walked home quite miserable about priests and 
the Catholic services. I slowly mounted Bello- 
sguardo, and my first relief was the sudden voice 
and appearance of lovely Miss Bracken, who came 
hastening after me, as I entered the lofty gate of 
our Villa Montauto. By this time I could not talk 
to Annette, being at the acme of my fatigue and 
headache ; but it was pleasant to see her while 
others were talking to her. 

****** 

Drawings of Great Masters. 

September 2d. — To-day we have been to Florence 
to see the original drawings of the great masters, at 
the Ufiizzi. These have an immeasurable interest for 
me. Among Perugino's, I saw the first sketches of 
his grand Deposition in the Pitti Gallery. The only 
face in the painting which I do not entirely like is 
that of Christ ; but in the drawing it is beautiful. 
Joseph of Arimathea is not comparable to the 
painted one, and the Madonna and St. John are 
alike in both. There was a divine pen-and-ink 
drawing of St. Catharine, and a few delicate and 
careful sketches by Fra Augelico. Among Raphael's, 
were first ideas of a group in his fresco of Helio- 
dorus, and the release of Peter from prison, both 

21 



482 NOTES IN ITALY. 

finished pictures in the Stanze of the Yatican. Also 
the Madonna of the Grand Duke, a different plan of 
face to the oil-painting, but the same in every other 
respect — the Staffa Madonna also, and a few others, 
but none of them highly elaborated, like many I saw 
in Oxford, England, and in the Louvre, Paris. There 
were sketches of his sister, who was the original 
type of many of his Virgin Marys. Of Michel An- 
gelo were some carefully-finished heads, and the 
whole figure of Fortune, delicately wrought : also 
parts of the Last Judgment — one incredible demon. 
Three rooms were hung with these precious relics. 
About two thousand are put ap at one time, but 
there are twenty thousand in all. Some of them 
are so highly perfected that they look like engrav- 
ings, and some are monochromes, touched with 
white chalk, wonderfully expressive and effective. 
I felt as if I were in the private studios of these 
great men, and a confidante of their secret thoughts, 
while looking at their sketches, made only for them- 
selves. It is also encouraging to less potent seig- 
niors and signoras, to perceive that when an idea 
seized so consummate a master as Raphael, the 
form and face did not come to his pencil perfect, at 
the first effort, but was scrawled off in unaccepted 
lines often, like attempts of meaner mortals. In 
this kind of misery one loves such illustrious com- 
pany, and it is no lack of charity to love it. After 
a certain time, I can look at pencil and pen-and-ink 
drawings not a moment longer, and I think two hours 



FLORENCE. 483 

ended my power in this direction. Then I went to 
see the dying Alexander. In all the heads called 
Alexander I see a similarity, and I think I know the 
face of the very hero now. This is colossal, and a 
grand expression of despair — the head thrown back, 
with rolled eyes, appealing to the gods. I always 
look at what they call the authentic head of Plato, 
in the Hall of Inscriptions. I gaze till I can see 
nothing, and close my eyes and then gaze again. 
It is so wonderful that I really see Plato, that I can 
never be satisfied with looking. I think a drawing 
of him that I once made from an engraving is this 
same head. There is refinement, refinement of the 
highest civilization and delicacy, and an imaginative 
intellect in every line, but not exactl}^ the certainty 
of a keen understanding in the mouth. This want 
of strength, however, may be owing to the cause I 
heretofore suggested. 

Bacchus, ever fair and young, stands in the centre 
of the same room, the loveliest, gladdest, gentlest 
smile of all-bounteous Nature that was ever em- 
bodied. The grace, the onward movement, the 
sweetness, the waving lines, like sunny fields of 
corn swept over by a southwestern breeze, radiant 
with promise of plenty — the light step of the feet — 
the loving ease with which the beautiful figure rests 
upon the faun Ampelos, in a charming nonchalance 
and repose (characteristic of the Olympian family 
always, when properly rendered) — the benignity of 
the brow, and delicacy of the features, render this 



184 NOTES m ITALY. 

THE Bacchus. Mr. Gibson's, at Kome, is so inferior, 
that it is not at all worth while for him to have done 
it. For, though Mr. Gibson's is a perfect form, it is 
evidently not a portrait of the god, like this. The 
scul23tor of this caught a glimpse of the genial Power 
as he passed in the purple sunshine of the Attic 
plains, and crystallized him forever in stone, in 
which he pauses, and yet ever seems to move on, 
with an immortality of gay, soft life. It is astonish- 
ing how the expression is sensuous as Nature, and 
yet enthely free from earthliness. Bacchus here 
suggests the idea of the Paradise in which man was 
first placed, before there had been any blight or 
decay or death, and when the atmosphere was so 
pure that angels alighted for social converse, and 
" the voice of God walked in the cool of the garden." 
He is indeed the divine Dionysus, coming from the 
plains of far Asia, where he has been civilizing the 
nations ; for he is not guilty of the misused grape. 
The Apollo, the Minerva, the Mercury, the Venus, 
and now the Bacchus of the Greek Olympus and the 
Juno, I have seen already ; and I have seen gi-and 
Joves, but not yet a Jove that commands my mind. 
I do not suppose, however, that one could ever be 
satisfied with a Jupiter. I wish I had seen that of 
Phidias. When the command was given to make no 
graven image of the Lord God, it might have been 
" thou canst not" instead of " thou shalt not." 

On our return toward the Porta Romana, we 
went into the Museum of Natural History to see the 



FLORENCE. 485 

Tribune of Galileo, a sort of temple erected to Gali- 
leo by tlie present Grand Duke Leopold — Galileo's 
heart being long ago thoroughly broken. In the 
centre of a circular apse stands his colossal statue, 
and around him in niches are busts of his pupils, 
and glass cases of his instruments ; and one of his 
fingers, pointing upward, is preserved in a crystal 
vase. Another of his fingers is in the Laurentine 
Library. How little he dreamed, when he sat in 
prison, that even his fingers would become precious 
relics for posterity! But I wish he had kept firm, 
and not denied the truth he had discovered. That 
is an endless grief to me. The lunettes round the 
whole temple are painted in fresco, with incidents 
of his life, and the walls and floor are inlaid with 
precious marbles and precious gems, and the white 
marble pilasters are sculptured with his discoveries 
and inventions. The very telescopes are there with 
which he searched for and found stars. Galileo is 
not handsome, but has a tower of a head. Near the 
entrance, his Grand Grace has placed himself in 
marble, and several others of the ducal family keep 
him in countenance, and a very ugly countenance it 
is. He looks to have intellect, but a fearfully caheza 
dura, and he has an unpardonable under-jaw. 

I retired to the Boboli Gardens to sit till toward 
sunset ; and I had a peaceful and refreshing session 
in those royal shades. I found a secluded stone 
couch near the lake, where I could see the majestic 
and unamiable swans, who were again in anger, and 



488 NOTES IN ITALY. 

growling at all who went empty-handed to the brink 
of the water. Anger made them very superb — 
striking out with their whitest wings, and proudly 
rearing their heads in scorn. Their voices, however, 
broke the charm, just as the peacock's scream dims 
the rainbow splendors of his tail, so wonderfully 
exact is the poise of checks and balances in the 
Divine economy. The nightingale in his slaty gray 
coat needs no purple and gold to add to the effect 
of his melodious sorrow. Over the delicious dulci- 
mer in his breast he wraps a twilight mantle, and no 
one asks for a coat of many colors for him. He 
warbles forth the one divine plaint, just as from 
the gloom of the Sistine rises the penetrating single 
voice of tuneful prayer for pity. His choral power 
is his beauty. And the skylark might say, " If you 
would have the fire of the ruby, the prismatic light 
of the diamond, the sunshine of the topaz, and the 
changing lustre of the opal, do not look at me ; but 
shut your ej^es, and I will pour from the cunning 
crucible of my throat such a gush of liquid gems as 
no alchymist ever melted in his crucible. You may 
look at the humming-bird, for he wears his jewels 
^^'Oven into a jacket. I transmute mine into raptures 
of thanksgiving and praise, which make the air il- 
lustrious and rich ; but we both, in our several way, 
bear witness to the Father." And the skylark is 
dressed in brown. 

In about an hour the clouds gathered over the hot 
sun, and I set forth for Montauto. I thought I 



FLORENCE. 487 

would come home a shorter way than my usual route, 
and so I went astra}^, and, being enclosed in high 
walls for a long distance, I could not see where I 
was, till suddenly, glancing through an opening, I 
found myself skurrying off to the Apennines, entirely 
wide from our villa. For three hours I wandered, 
wearily, wearily, and finally took the right turn. I 
have long been lying down in Ada's study, upon a 
sofa which commands a distant view from the case- 
ment, opening to the floor. The beautiful hills, 
crowned with castles and villas, wave along the 
horizon, and as I was looking, suddenly a great 
piece of rainbow dropped down among them. What 
a land ! where rainbows are broken up, and tossed 
among the mountains and valleys, just for beauty. 
In such a vast expanse of view as we have here, 
there are many private little showers going on round 
the heights, while the sun is shining, and rainbows 
may often be found among them by the careful 
watcher. 

September 10th. — To-day Ada and I went to Flor- 
ence. We took refuge for a while in Santo Spirito, 
always so desirable to see, for the sake of resting. 
The stately pillared nave, and lofty side-aisles, car- 
ried all round the apse in a lovely bewilderment of 
arches and columns, and all in spherical order, are 
noble proofs of the poetical genius of the great 
Brunelleschi. The high altar is a glorious centre of 
the wheel of beauty. There was a Function going 



488 NOTES m ITALY. 

on before one of the side chapels — the burial-ser- 
vice of a child. The coffin was covered with a white 
satin pall, embroidered wdth purple and gold. The 
officiating priests were in robes of white satin 
and gold, and the altar was alight with candles, be- 
sides those borne by young boys in white tunics. 
This scene in the aisle was a splendid picture in the 
soft gloom -of the church ; and when the organ burst 
forth in a kind of tender rapture, rolling pearly 
waves of harmony along the large spaces, and filling 
the dome with the foam and spray of interlacing 
measures, it seemed as if angels were welcoming the 
young child to heaven. 

We walked round the Tribune to look at the 
pictures in the chapels, and saw a wonderful Peru- 
gino, which I had not discovered before. "What 
a happiness ! It seemed to be the Madonna ap- 
pearing to St. Domenic, who sits reading at a table, 
and starts and lifts his hands in an ecstasy of 
worship at the vision. Mary stands with a great 
majesty and pensiveness, her head slightly bent, 
attended by a group of angels. It has been told me 
that there is deeper feeling in the Sienese school 
than is found in Perugino ! I should like to see 
whether it be so. 

September 11th. — This evening we went to a re- 
ception at the Villa Brichieri, to meet the British 
Minister, the Honorable Mr. Lj'ons, son of Lord 
Lyons, Admiral at the Crimea ; and a Greek gen- 



FLORENCE. 489 

tleman and lady. The lady was a queenly woman, 
with glorious eyes and brow, and shining black 
hair, curling, from a coronet of braids, down her 
cheeks, like flexible paragon (a brilliant black pietra 
dura). Her husband was also very handsome — 
having the same eyes, like deepest night, with stars 
in the abysses. Oriental eyes they must be, for the 
like are not to be found in the Occident. I did not 
talk with them, but with the Honorable Mr. Lyons, 
who was very agreeable, and amiable, and genial. 
Mr. H. talked with the Greeks ; but I believe he 
did not find them Pericles and Aspasia in intellect. 

FlESOLE. 

September 14th. — To-day I drove to Fiesole with 
Ada and the children. Fiesole is the " Cradle of 
Florence," and the birthplace of Fra Angelico. 
We passed out of the Porta a Pinti, and drove on 
till we arrived at the Church and Convent of St. 
Domenic, into which we hastened to see a picture by 
the angelic Friar in the Choir. We were well re- 
warded, for we found it one of his divinest Madonnas ; 
indeed, by far the most beautiful of any Madonna I 
have seen by him. She is enthroned, with the infant 
Christ, and Domenican saints stand on each side, 
and a wreath of angels surrounds her throne. The 
colors are much dimmed, perhaps by dust, but the 
attitude, expression, and loveliness remain. U. 
thought it the most celestial Madonna she had ever 

21* 



490 NOTES m ITALY. 

seen by any artist. It has ineffable grace and dig- 
nity, and a gentle pensiveness that is irresistibly 
pathetic. A 3- oung monk unveiled the picture for us. 
He was very courteous, and had an air of unusual 
goodness and sincerity. He is one of those yf\\o 
bear witness. As a matter of course, I offered him 
a fee for his trouble, but he made a sad and decided 
gesture of refusal, that was very surprising and re- 
markable ; for it was impossible to gainsay him, and 
I felt embarrassed that I had even thought of the 
gold that perishes, in the presence of the heavenly 
picture and the holy youth. I wish I knew his 
history. 

We then climbed up to the mountain city, along 
perfect roads, smooth as marble, and winding as 
commodiously as possible. This admirable road 
from the Porta a Pinti was made by money accumu- 
lated from the sale of titles of nobility. The Fesu- 
lans have a Book of Gold, in which very foolish 
people get their names and bought titles inscribed 
for three or four hundred pounds each ! and even 
Englishmen have purchased ghostly dukedoms and 
earldoms and baronetcies there ! As neither revenue 
nor honor nor long descent can be bought too, it is 
an empty farce indeed. But the consequence of 
this human folly is a superb road. In a little more 
than an hour we drove into the piazza of Fiesole. 
Florence razed her mother city to the ground after 
she grew up, and why — I cannot tell ; but all that 
now remains is this piazza and the Duomo, the Hall 



FLORENCE. 491 

of the Podesta, and a college. On a lofty eminence 
once stood the Acropolis ; and on its site is a con- 
vent. It is a conical hill, a thousand feet above 
Florence, and exceedingly symmetrical, as we see it 
from the Villa Montanto. 

We first visited the Dnomo, a curious, rude old 
cathedral, with a crypt beneath, and a choir above 
the main church. The funniest old man in the 
world came to show us the wonders of his temple. 
I think he could never have been' young, and that 
he never can die. Such a thoroughly embalmed old 
man (embalmed while alive), and one so sparkling 
with gleeful fire, and cheerful, crackling little flames, 
could nowhere else be seen. His small eyes shot 
sparks as from electric jars. He bustled and rustled 
about without a moment's rest, and he had no sooner 
attracted our eyes to one thing than he was off, 
calling "Yenga," " Venga," "Venga," with the 
utmost vividness and rapidity of utterance, to some- 
thing else. Now he darted to a work of Mino da 
Fiesole, which we would gladly have examined ; but 
the moment we got to it he hurried us to a column 
of the Roman period ; and then snatched us away 
to a font, once in the Temple of Bacchus, which I 
desired to investigate especially, but the grass- 
hopper instantly hopped over to a fresco of Saint 
Homulus. It was the queerest annoyance and the 
most amusing that ever was, and he was himself the 
greatest curiosity and the ancientest thing in all the 
city. The best work of art I saw was a marble bust 



492 NOTES IN ITALY. 

by Mino, of Bishop Salutati. After trying to see the 
cathedral, for the little grig prevented any reposeful 
or satisfactory enjoyment of it, we descended a road 
behind it to find the well-preserved Kne of oldest 
Etruscan wall. Enormous blocks of stone of various 
sizes, but of parallelopiped form, compose the wall, 
and we climbed up and gathered some ivy from it 
for a memorial. On this north side of the city is 
the valley of the Mugnone, well cultivated. On the 
south spreads the lovely Yal d'Arno, in which Flor- 
ence reposes, and we look along the course of the 
river to the Gonfolina gorge. Beyond rise the hills 
and mountains. The day was transcendent, and we 
saw the view in the best light and atmosphere — 

" The haughty day 
Filled her blue urn with fire," — 

and the heights were vn-apped in veils of transparent 
illusion, just to be a little magical and mystical, 
without being at all hidden, and the vines and fig- 
trees and pale olives and waving corn made the 
sumptuous plain laugh with plenty and gladness and 
peace, which yet, in Italy, is no gladness nor peace. 
The wonderful song that Byron sings of Greece, be- 
ginning, 

" He that hath bent him o'er the dead," 

may be sung of Italy as well. An inward persua- 
sion that the faii*ness we see is not genuine pros- 
perity and joy, comes at every turn in this enchant- 



FLORENCE. A^Z 

ing country. There is no " sober certainty of bliss" 
here. How mysterious are these old civilizations, 
which culminate and vanish, leaving ruin, desolation, 
and emptiness, shells of dead beauty, all over the 
earth ! It is said that England has now commenced 
her downward course ; but I believe that England 
is only changing her course. Hitherto, it seems as 
if there had indeed been cause enough for decay 
and for bitter ashes in place of rich pnlp ; because 
sin has gnawed at the heart of each empire's glory, 
as a worm at the heart of the flower or the fruit. 
It is the lack of love, of St. Paul's charity, which is 
the difficulty. Cannot a nation be based on that 
and live forever ? America might try it, but has 
made no sign yet. Italy, however, is not dead — 
only faint, and Italy alone is thoroughly civilized 
through and through, since immemorial ages. This 
I deeply feel, now that I am here ; but something 
has soiled it. In its cities, especially, I have an 
irrepressible desire to ivash them cleans and make 
them comfortable and fresh. I wish to have every 
stone scoured ; but I am afraid it is the corruptions 
of the Eoman Church which have defiled the land, 
and that water cannot purify it. It is sufi'ering 
under an incubus. 

Michel Angelo's Marbles. 

September 16th. — We Avent to Florence this fine 
day, and visited San Lorenzo to see the marbles 



494 XOTES ly ITALY. 

of Michel Angelo. I s^Dent nearly a whole hour in 
looking at Lorenzo di Medici. I cannot understand 
wliY the fissures at his feet are called Morning: and 
Evening. I saw, at Lombardi's, Michel Angelo's 
original sketch of the Morning, in which the face is 
more finished than in the marble, so that perhaps 
the unfinished state was not designed in either Day 
or Morning. Day has the effect of a dazzling sun 
rising, too bright to look at steadily ; and I wonder 
whether this was the purpose of the sculptor. But 
no one will ever know, and it is very puzzling ; for 
Evening and Night are entii'ely completed, yet one 
would suppose they would be more indistinct than 
Morning and Day, instead of less so. Michel An- 
gelo will never speak, and the marble is forever 
dumb, and we may as well submit to the facts. 

From this chapel we went to the Laurentian 
Library, which is over the cloisters. We were 
guided to a Vestibule, planned by Michel Angelo, 
in which a staircase leads up into the Library. It 
was much smaller than I expected, but yet big 
enough to hold the nine or ten thousand precious 
manuscripts deposited there. It is a long apart- 
ment, with a great many windows on each side, 
painted in bright arabesques. The ceiling is carved 
in oak, I think — as it is brown — though I should 
suppose it would be stone for safety, and the pave- 
ment is a mosaic of red, brown, and yellow terra- 
cotta. A broad aisle in the centre runs the whole 
length, between long, pew-like seats, with desks, 



FLORENCE. 405 

upon wliicli the manuscripts are chained. In the 
aisle are tables at intervals, at many of which men 
were copying manuscripts. We were first shown 
the earliest manuscripts of the Pandects of Justi- 
nian, in clear, large characters. It was the very 
copy which had been held in such exceeding ven- 
eration by the Pisans, who burnt tapers before it as 
before the Host, when it was solemnly visited by 
the magistracy from time to time. We saw also, 
in the same case, the famous earliest manuscript of 
Virgil ; and the Decameron, much interlined, with 
many notes on the margin ; Cicero's epistles, copied 
by Petrarch ; Aristotle, in a dozen folios ; Horatius 
Flaccus, with an autograph of Petrarch, showing it 
to have been his property ; an old Evangel from 
Trebizond, and beautiful colored contemporaneous 
portraits of Petrarch and Laura, as illuminations in 
the Canzoniere. Laura is beautiful, with a very 
stately head, and proud, refined expression, entirely 
satisfactory. Opening from the Library, is a Rotun- 
da, surrounded by glass cases, in which are placed 
all the first books printed after the invention of 
printing — Plato, Aristotle, Cicero, Horace, and all 
the other classics in all languages. Many of the 
manuscripts were richly illuminated ; and we saw the 
first map b}' Ptolemy, with ultra-marine seas, of the 
Eastern Hemisphere, then the whole of the known 
world. This collection is the most valuable there is, 
except that of the Vatican. But we ought to have 
had some one with us who could command the exhi- 



49G NOTES IN ITALY. 

r 

bition of all tlie chief treasures, for the custode did 
not show us even what is usually seen, and I hope 
we shall go again under better auspices. 

In the evening, the Greek lady called with her 
little daughter and a Signore Yilleri, and when I took 
the child's hand and said, " Tell me your name, that 
we may talk together," she replied, " Aspasia !" As 
we were sitting out in the moonlight, on the terrace 
that commands the Val d'Arno, in a kind of poetic 
dream, this name took me still more out of prosaic 
life. Were we on the Acropolis of Athens ? The 
comet appeared in the northwest, in abysses of blue 
pearl, as I held little Aspasia's hand. 

September 20th. — To-day was my last visit to the 
Uffizzi. I took my sketch-book to draw an outline 
of Plato ; but my pencil had no point at all, and we 
had not a penknife, so I could do nothing. I looked 
so long at the head that I see it distinctly in my 
mind, and I hope to draw it from memory in future. 

There were in the Gallery two Englishmen, one a 
tall red-faced squire and fox-hunter, I fancy, with a 
loud, lumbering voice, like a sledge-hammer, slightly 
modulated by a certain amount of civilization : the 
other a small, slender, delicately organized, polished, 
trim, regular-featured, conceited, cautious gentleman, 
with silver hair, resembling a shining little minnow 
in the wake of a porpoise. The porpoise was the 
introducer of the minnow to the wonders of art before 
them, and it was a rare spectacle to see how he 



FLORENCE. 497 

managed it. He plainly liad no perception of art at 
all, but he was quite sure he had, and that he was 
an accomplished connoisseur, as he knew the names 
and reputations of the pictures. He desired a large 
audience, or more exactly, he felt that he deserved 
one, and looked about to observe who heard his 
remarks, as much as to say, " Listen all who can." 
To all his dogmatical assertions in heavy slodgy 
voice, the silver minnow responded in thin tones of 
assent, holding his perfectly brushed hat on his bent 
thumb, with consummate skill and nicety. Such a 
precise, immaculate little nonentity of a person ! for 
there was no intellect in his face — he was only well 
arranged ; but the small parlor of his mind was in 
exact order, and all its minute objects of vertU laid 
out to the best advantage. The two friends con- 
sulted together about going to the Pitti. The silver 
minnow said to the red porpoise, in his fine, wee 
voice, " It confuses one to see too many things at 
once." " It DOES so," replied the other in heavy 
boulder-tones. They were then in the Tribune, and 
they were extremely diverting, yet there was so much 
for us to see that I could not spend any more time 
observing them. 

September 27th. — I drove to Florence with Miss 
Blagden and Annette, and met the rest of us in the 
Duomo. Going in without intending to see the 
Cathedral, it had an effect of vastness and majesty. 
We all sat down near the high altar to enjoy the 



498 NOTES IN ITALY. 

painted windows of the transepts and Tribune, so 
superb as tbey are. The pietra serena of which the 
interior of the building is made, sets off the glory of 
the colors admirably. A church that has such lii^hts 
need not be encrusted with varied marbles. In this 
last visit to it, I seemed to comprehend it better 
than ever before. 

To-day we chose a Florentine mosaic brooch, a 
brilliant bird pecking at a cherry. The cherries are 
red and white chalcedonies, and the bird is made up 
of lapis-lazuli, malachite, sardonyx, and coralline. 
After this very pretty shopping we parted, and U. 
and I took a carriage and drove to San Miniato. It 
was toward sunset, and when we arrived at the 
summit, by the aid of a donkey fastened to our 
horses, I was enchanted with the view of Florence, 
which is better than any other. The Duomo, Cam- 
panile, and Tower of Palazzo Yecchio, and the 
delicate Badia, take a beautiful relation to one 
another, grouping themselves in stately wise. I saw 
the grand proportions of the Duomo to advantage 
for the first time, and I have not before confessed to 
myself that it is the grandest Dome in the world. 
The fair campanile rose like a spirit at its side — or 
as Miss Blagden so happily said, " like the lovely 
Una by the side of her Lions ;" and the Palazzo Vec- 
chio asserted its supremacy entirely. Far off the 
Arno gleamed between wooded banks, winding off 
to the mountains, which were now becoming ame- 
thystine in hue. The rows of straight, solemn, dark 



FLORENCE. 409 

cypresses, forming tlie avenue of San Agostino, made 
rich contrast to the Val d'Arno's bright level beauty, 
and the undulating hills on the horizon. So glorious 
was this picture, that we could not bear to go into 
the church, and lose its changes. The facade is 
covered with marbles, and it is very noble and lofty 
within, having three ^3/a?20.s, a crypt, a middle floor, 
and an upper Tribune or apse, like the old Duomo of 
Fiesole. In the apse is a pulpit, elaborately carved, 
and there is cinque-cento work all about the gallery. 
Ancient frescoes are fading and crumbling on the 
walls, and I discerned some grand old saints fast 
vanishing away, alas ! alas ! and alas ! Workmen 
filled the nave, and it w^as in so great confusion, that 
we had no comfort in looking at anything, and so we 
returned to the prospect, and watched the pomp of 
the sunsetting, though not to the end ; because 
we were obliged to come home to Bellosguardo 
before dusk. 




IV. 
KETUENING TO KOME. 

SIENA. 

On the 1st of October we left the Villa Montanto 
for Siena, and arrived at this Aquila Nera in about 
three hours by rail. We saw a square castle of the 
middle ages, and we passed Certaldo, the birthplace 
of Boccaccio, where he lived most of his Hfe. 

Mr. and Mrs. Story called immediately to see us, 
and drove us about the city, to the Cathedral, and to 
the picturesque Palazzo Pubblico, with its remark- 
able tower, which Mr. Story prefers to that of Flor- 
ence. The piazza in which it stands is very large 
and hollow, like a scallop-shell, with a sculptured 
fountain in its midst. There were endless palaces 
of the Piccolomini, that family being the principal 
one of Siena. After our pleasant excursion, we 
found an apartment at Manini's, and established 
ourselves there in the afternoon. 

On the 3d October we spent the day delightfully 
at Mr. Story's villa. We wandered through a vine- 
yard, festooned with luscious grapes, and we gazed 
into a deep well, with trailing maiden-hair draping 



RETUnmNG TO ROME— SIENA. 501 

the rongli stones witli its delicate beauty ; and in 
the evening, as we sat looking down an avenue of 
dark cj^presses to the clear sky beyond, the comet 
suddenly appeared, more distinctly and brilliantly 
than we had seen it before, even at Moutanto. It 
shone in the deep sapphire depths of space with an 
awful splendor. 

On the 4th we visited the Cathedral for awhile, 
and found it gorgeous inside, entirely inlaid with 
black, w^iite, and red marbles, and filled with sculp- 
tures at every point. The pavement is of black, 
Avhite, and purple marbles also, and ornamented 
with the finest designs in a sort of niello style — 
sibyls, prophets, saints, events of the Old Testament, 
and symbolical subjects, each subject enclosed in 
exquisite borders of great variety. Sometimes they 
were arabesques and leaves only — sometimes birds, 
grifiius, horses, lions, sphynxes, and flowers. The 
stalls of the apse are delicately carved, and the 
backs of the tabernacles are inlaid with two shades 
of woods. At every turn, angels, apostles, and 
martyrs stand in marble or bronze in grand, grace- 
ful, and devout forms, peopling the spaces. A 
pulpit of incredible richness, by Nicolo da Pisa, is 
on one side of the Tribune. It is raised on eight 
slender columns, four of which rest upon white 
marble lions and lionesses, sporting with their cubs, 
and there is also a central column, supported by a 
group of figures, highly finished. The capitals of 
these pillars are wrought into foliage, among which 



502 NOTES m ITALY. 

birds, in every lovely attitude, are pecking and turn- 
ing. Trefoiled arches, enclosed in one Gothic arch, 
surmount the columns, and upon each capital stands 
a lovely figure, with angels looking over its shoul- 
ders, while other angels fill the rest of the space 
behind. Above is a cornice, delicately embossed, 
and over that, compartments of bas-reliefs, repre- 
senting the life of Christ, separated from each other 
by stately figures of prophets ; and above the whole 
is another rich cornice. The stairway is covered 
with arabesques, curved on the marble, and every 
one of the balusters is of a different design from 
every other. It is gorgeous beyond description, 
and all patiently and faithfully worked out of the 
stone, without one careless touch. 

[This ends my rapid survey of our first four days 
in Siena, w^hen I could make no record in my journal, 
as events occurred.] 

October 5th. — We went to the Institute of the 
Fine Arts to-day. We saw pictures in tempera from 
1200 to those in oils in 1500. Yery quaint Madon- 
nas and holy Infants, all evidently from some sacred 
type, perhaps Greek — with long noses, low foreheads, 
small eyes, and interminable fingers, and the babe 
always mature in expression. Presently, the Ma- 
donna began to be more comely, and the young 
child infantine and sweet. But all that went before 
were put out of mind by Sodoma's fresco of Christ 
bound to the column. It is of life-size, and a little 



RETURNINO TO ROME— SIENA. 503 

more tliau half-length. He looks toward the left, 
the head slightly inclined, with an introspective ex- 
pression of the eyes. It is the first representation 
of Christ which I have seen that gives me any satis- 
faction. The figure is of the ideal proportions of 
manhood, and the face and head are of perfect and 
delicate beauty, while they are grand with strength 
and intellectual power. There is a w^eariness unto 
death in the large lids, half cast down in heavy 
reverie over wonderful, deep eyes, tender, depre- 
cating, and infinitely pathetic in their eloquence. 
There is a love in them far beyond Torture and 
Time, a sweetness illumined by celestial fire — flaming 
through a mist as of tears — a profound, unquench- 
able, spiritual light, which is the Resurrection and 
the Life. The cords alone seem to keep him erect, 
so spent with agony and fatigue is the finely organ- 
ized frame. The lips are parted, as if there were 
not physical power left to keep them closed. The 
mouth is ideally beautiful, and expressive of gener- 
ous sensibility and of suffering, such as the imagi- 
nation cannot compass. The face is flushed : the 
crown of thorns presses savagely, and over the 
divine brow heavy gouts of blood drop upon the 
breast, shed with patient, immortal love. The line 
of the nose is of the most refined delicacy, while the 
nostrils dilate with a spirit and a pride so angelic, 
so superb, that one feels that he submits not through 
weakness, but through conquering might. From the 
noble head the long, brown hair flows down with 



504 NOTES IN ITALY. 

wonderful grace. Sodoma excels all tlio gi-eat mas- 
ters in tlie painting of the eyes. These eyes are 
introspective, as I said, looking downward. But 
one feels that if the large lids were lifted, the 
glory of the eyes would dazzle and command. 
Christ has always been represented feebly — beauti- 
ful, without force or manliness. Sodoma finds that 
he is beautiful, yet most princely, most strong. And 
this unequalled conception of Christ is peeling off 
the wall, and is already very much injured ! 

In another room was a Gethsemane, which is 
generally disagreeably pictured. I had never yet 
seen one that I liked at all. But Sodoma has 
painted one at last. I did not have time to contem- 
plate this so long as I had done the other ; but I 
saw the deep, large eyes raised in prayer, and a 
sovereign beauty radiating from every line. I can- 
not recall it minutely now, however, but see better 
the Judith at this moment. AUori's Judith in the 
Pitti is superior to any I have before seen ; but this 
infinitel}^ transcends Allori's. This is not the splen- 
did woman, the lover of Holof ernes. It is a maiden, 
pure as a lily, and gentle and tender as a dove, with 
a deep soul, and a resolution, a will made immutable 
and irresistible by having united wdth God's will. 
She is one who, believing she sees ^^'hat is right, 
does it, and having done so fearful a thing as this, 
begins to comprehend the worship of sorrow, and at 
this moment is lost in the sudden revelation opened 
to her by her action. She is nobly beautiful, pale 



RETURNINO TO ROME— SIENA. HOj 

like a pearl, and her great dark eyes are veiled by 
tlie mighty shadow of thought, as with a transparent 
cloud, — sad thought, — and her mouth is also sad. 
She suddenly feels her soul to be very heavy, and 
yet, over all is a large tranquillity, as if God were 
with her. The pride of life is in the Judith of 
Allori, but Sodoma's Judith has the majesty of truth 
and guilelessness. It is a face of which one could 
never tire ; and how different it is from his Eve ! 
Eve is the richest blossom of young womanhood, 
dewy and rose-tinted, with a fresh creation thrilling 
in her veins, and the symphonies of the spheres 
tuning her pulses ; the new sunshine shining in her 
hair, new auroras dawning in her eyes — lilies, moon- 
light, and pomegranates striving in her tissues for 
mastery, all just made, and in full potency. How 
she curves toward Adam, and beams with all the 
witchery of woman ! She is not divine, but arch and 
earthly, before the stain of crime had mingled with 
earth to make it foul. She is made of Virgin earth, 
— dust transfused with the breath of God, and a 
boundless joy of existence animates her whole form. 
Her "bosom's lord sits lightly on his throne," in 
vast contrast to the heavy soul of Judith. Eve is 
the embodied smile of the unworn world, an ecstatic 
sense of life. 

There was a Holy Family by Kubens, but I really 
could not look at it after Sodom a. The absence of 
spirituality in him contrasts painfully with these 
Italian masters. Pvubens wore his two wives on his 

23 



508 NOTES IN ITALY. 

eyes, and all his female figures and faces are liis 
wives, sometimes modified and sometimes not, and 
all representations of his childi-en are his own 
bouncing babies, not at all divine. Sodoma was 
after Perugino, and broke free from the hard line of 
the previous schools. His pencil is genial, soft, and 
blending, and no longer suggests parchment and 
cords. 

October 6th. — This morning I went to the Baptis- 
tery to draw Ghiberti's lovely Angels of the Font. 
I had a pencil which proved to be like the lead chil- 
dren melt into nondescripts, and could not produce 
an eloquent line, but I got the groups and the atti- 
tudes. All the bas-reliefs of the font are by great 
artists. The gilding of the bronze is still quite 
bright. We went afterward into the Cathedral, and 
I sketched the right aisle, and the antique font 
(which was once a Roman candelabrum), and a por- 
tion of the gorgeous pulpit. 

In the afternoon I saw at San Francesco's church 
the Deposition of Sodoma. I was very jealous lest 
I should like it better than that of Perugino, but I 
did not. Mary has quite fainted away, and her face 
has deep pathos beneath the shadow of death thrown 
over it. It is foreshortened, but perfectly drawn, so 
that the beauty of contour is not lessened. Her 
features are very delicate, and even the contraction 
and the pinching of her agony do not take fi'om her 
beauty. Under the hood which partly veils her 



RETURNma TO ROME— SIENA. 507 

brow lier lids have closed on a sight which a mother 
cannot bear. I think all the power of the picture 
centres in her face. She lies on the ground, attended 
bj another Mary and John. Joseph and Peter are 
taking down the body. Mary Magdalen, very fair, 
with light golden hair, stands at the foot of the cross, 
uttering a cry. Another Mary supports the feet. 
Two Roman soldiers, one with a halberd and one 
with the spear that pierced Christ's side, stand talk- 
ing together in an indifferent way. He of the spear 
is particularlj^ nonchalant, as if he were looking at a 
puppet-show. Over the Madonna kneels the figure 
of an elderly woman in black, who spreads out her 
hands in dismay at the fainting. 

While I was engaged with this, the custode un- 
veiled another picture by Beccafumi, of the Holy 
Fathers in Limbo, and Christ descending to them. 
I was immediately struck with the wonderful spirit- 
ual beauty of the figure, face, and action of Christ. 
His face seems composed of a transparent substance, 
through which his pity and tenderness beam. It is 
"the celestial body," of which St. Paul speaks. He 
bends to the upraised countenance of one of the 
Fathers, like a benignant, sympathizing friend. 
Thin blue drapery floats about him like slightly- 
condensed air, and he touches with his hand the 
shoulder of the old man. One feels the thrilling 
influence that penetrates the whole being of the 
saint, from those caressing fingers. Other spirits 
crowd around, gazing with hope and longing at the 



608 NOTES IN ITALY. 

divine visitant. The contours have the delicacy of 
Venetian glass, and there seems an inner light, 
which shows the perfect tracing of the lines, and 
above all, Pity and Love. Love itself is the light 
that illumines him. Here is something more won- 
derful than Titian's color. He paints the splendid 
material tissues, but Beccafumi paints the spiritual 
body. It is singular that we had come to Siena to 
see Christ made manifest ; for the Christ of Bapha- 
el's Transfiguration is not equal to Sodoma's and 
Beccafumi's, as it seems to me. I wonder I have 
not heard more about the Sienese school ; and how 
I rebelled against the idea of its being so great ! 

I saw in the Institute a figure by a very early 
master, like Michel Angelo's Judge in the Sistine 
fresco. Could he have appropriated it? Michel 
Angelo and Baphael took with royal hands what- 
ever they pleased, from right and left, and then 
made their spoils entirely their own ; and they were 
so rich, and their genius so plastic, that they could 
do this without invading their originality. As Mr. 
Story said, "It is only the weak who fear to be 
helped." It was from San Francesco that Sodo- 
ma's Christ bound to the column, was taken. 

Palazzo Pubblico. 

October 7th. — We went to the Palazzo Pubblico, 
this morning, to see frescoes and paintings in 
oil. A ceiling by Beccafumi, of Boman stories, 



RETURNING TO ROME— SIENA. 509 

freshly brilliant. I did not fancy mucli, after Laving 
seen liis Limbo. But a Madonna by Sodoma — dear 
me ! I suspect it surpasses all others ! I have not 
yet seen the Dresden Madonna, which doubtless is 
the divinest ever pictured, but all the innumerable 
rest of them must be ranked below this one in the 
old Public Palace of Siena. She is sitting just at 
the entrance of an open manger, with " the Wonder- 
ful," the " Prince of Peace," on her knees. Her 
expression is that of joy and amazement, her right 
hand lifted with an action of surprise. It is the 
noblest, loveliest face of earliest womanhood, with 
large, liquid eyes, every contour queenly yet girlish ; 
not a shade of pensiveness — only pure delight and 
rapture at a heavenlj' miracle illumine her aspect. 
Her mouth of richest curves is tremulous with 
happ3^ emotion ; and the great eyes have a misty 
gleam, as with glorious tears. The Infant is sub- 
lime and sweet, and raises his little hand to bless. 
Mr. H. thought him particularly beautiful. In 
Mary's face is that indescribable look of no age, 
W'hich the old masters, and Baphaol also, give to 
their angels. It combines youth and painless expe- 
rience, such as cycle beyond cycle in heaven coald 
impart ; and perhaps it is angelic wisdom. Sodoma 
has given this look to his Madonna, and if Mary sym- 
bolizes the Church, it is most appropriate. She is 
so unconscious, that the sword will pierce her heart 
before she knows that she is personally concerned 
in this Saviour of the world. 



510 NOTES IN ITALY. 

In another hall are three Saints, by this artist — 
Saint Ansano, Saint Ambrogio, and — I forget the 
name of the other. Saint Ansano is the divine one. 
He stands, with a radiant light breaking from his 
presence as from a Dawn. He is performing some 
benign act, and the " good-will to man" in his soul 
is what causes this effulgence. But he is not of the 
angelic type, for one sees that it has been through 
tribulation and anguish that he has become the 
saint he is. His day before has been stormy with 
thunder and rain, and this morrow of peace and 
glory is the result of a cleared atmosphere. In his 
eyes and cheeks and mouth are the genial warmth 
and flush of trial and conquest, and his hair glitters 
as if angels, whom we cannot see, were shining upon 
him. The other two saints are also fine ; but I had 
time for only one, and cannot describe them. The 
old custode was impatient, and I nearly destroyed 
him, as it was, with my pertinacity of delay. He 
preferred to show us a casket which once contained 
the arm of John the Baptist, he said ! An immense 
picture, called the Madonna of the Baldacchino, by 
Simone Memmi, he would not let us stay to see. 
One might spend weeks in this Palazzo alone, study- 
ing with unweariable satisfaction ; and Siena is so 
fall of priceless treasures, that I wish we could 
remain here a month, at least. 

October 8th. — I went with Ada and the children 
to St. Agostino, to see Perugino's Crucifixion and 



RETURNING TO ROME— SIENA. 511 

Sodoma's Nativity. Perngino's design is as regular 
as a mathematical figure : Christ upon the cross — 
an angel on each side, holding vases beneath the 
hands, to catch the precious blood that drops: at 
the foot of the cross two Marys, kneeling opposite 
one another. Behind one Mary stands the Madonna, 
and behind the other, St. John. A wonderful quiet 
is produced by this order. The sentiment of the 
scene is an awed silence, in the presence of the 
dread event. Even his mother does not faint, but 
looks down, pale and still. All are hushed by an 
emotion and apprehension too great for expression. 
It is different to any representation of the subject I 
have seen. The faces are all characteristic, and 
some are beautiful, and every part is carefully 
finished. 

In the Piccolomini Chapel is an Epiphany, by 
Sodoma. Here again is the noblest beauty in Mary. 
She is so absorbed in gazing upon the infant, that 
she does not observe the old . king kneeling to kiss 
his little foot, or the splendid young king who, with 
a royal step and gesture, is coming forward to offer 
a delicate vase of pearl. Ideal kingliness is in this 
figure. An African potentate, bearing a cup of 
purest gold, Joseph, angels, superb horses, camels, 
and attendants, fill up the scene. Sodoma is more 
like Raphael than any other painter, I think. 

In the evening we walked out to a pleasant prom- 
enade, where were law^ns and statues and avenues, 
and sat down to watch the comet descend for an 



513 JS^OTES IN ITALY. 

hour. We heard that it would be particularly mag- 
nificent to-night (8th) ; but it was not brighter than 
we had found it at Montauto and Marciana. 

October 9th. — "We went to San Francesco's church 
to see Sodoma's Deposition and Beccafumi's Limbo 
again, and to the Oratory of St. Bernardino for the 
frescoes of Sodoma and Beccafumi. In a Nativity 
by the latter, the infant Christ reminded me of 
Murillo's Good Shepherd, in its lovely grace and 
spiritual beauty. It stands beside Mary, with its 
hand in the attitude of blessing, and its face turned 
to its mother. The coloring is so pearly, that he 
seems already transfigured. A wonderful angel 
hovers near, pausing in the air, in a haze of golden 
glory. It does not float, but rests, with a dreamy, 
blissful expression. Mary stands also, and looks 
upon the child. She has a slender figure, and an 
oval, beautiful face. The Mary in the Visitation, by 
Sodoma, satisfies, like all his Madonnas. 

This morning we saw Sodoma's Nativity, in San 
Spirito ; an immense picture over the high altar. 
The Madonna is different from all his others ; not 
so extremely young, and the motive of the face is 
unlike the rest. Here she is stately. There is a 
queenly carriage of the head, and she is conscious 
of her dignity. A most noble Joseph responds to 
her royal bearing, and angels and cherubs beam out 
on every side. One descends, as we look, pressing 
tlirough the air like a radiant dove, and a shining 



RETURNING TO ROME—SrEKA. 513 

group stand round tlio infant, ready to serve him ; 
and the shade, as well as the light, is filled with ser- 
aph faces. A dead lamb is dropped by a shepherd 
in the foreground, with a direct and pathetic signifi- 
cance. We had the church to ourselves ; and an 
hour passed like a moment, when a nun came to tell 
us that the doors must be closed. So we proceeded 
to the Oratory of St. Bernardino, and then at last 
to the Library of the Cathedral, which is covered 
with Pinturicchio's greatest frescoes. In one is the 
authentic full-length portrait of Raphael : so now I 
have really seen him, painted by an eminent con- 
temporary artist. Two eyes were not enough to see 
it — I needed all Argus's to gaze quickly and thor- 
oughly. It is a princely figure of early youth, and 
the face is exceedingly beautiful. He is assisting at 
the obsequies of St. Catharine, and stands, holding 
a wax-candle. On his head is a black velvet cap, 
looped with gold, and light-golden hair flows from 
beneath it in rich curls to his shoulders. So the 
Uffizzi picture is untrue, with its dark hair and eyes, 
for these eyes are lustrous blue, and large, with a 
musing, absent expression, and the complexion is 
fair and blooming. So would look an ideal Prince 
Arthur or St. George. He is the very darling and 
beauty of the world, just as I should know he must 
be. A graceful cloak or mantle falls behind, and his 
right hand rests on his right hip in a dainty fashion, 
and the action of the limbs is gallant and noble. It 
has an individual character, as a faithful portrait 

22^ 



5U NOTES m ITALY. 

would liave, and how Pinturiccliio enjoyed painting 
him, any one may fancy. Pinturicchio himself 
stands near, and a youthful Leonardo da Yinci and 
PeiTigino. Probably Raphael was the painter of 
Pinturicchio. Perugino looks like a serious-minded 
rustic, and I knew him well before, for Raphael 
has put him into the great picture of the Resurrec- 
tion in the Pinecotheca of the Vatican, where Peru- 
gino put Raphael, asleep as a soldier. How charm- 
ing it must have been for them to paint one another ! 
but particularly what glorious pastime for all the rest 
to seize with their brushes Raphael, that vision of 
beauty and grace ! The colors of all these frescoes 
are still brilliant, and many of them represent 
events in the life of Eneas Sylvius Piccolomini, after- 
ward Pope Pio II., I think. In one scene, Raphael 
officiated as the page of the Doge, holding the 
Doge's cap, who kneels in sumptuous golden robes 
by his side, in prayer. It was pretty nice, methinks, 
to have Raphael for a model. Pinturicchio was a 
happy man. The ceiling of this library is covered 
with arabesques and cunning devices, in rich color 
and gold. Fifty huge missals lie on desks round 
the room. Their thick covers are mounted with 
brass (or gold), and within they were superbly illu- 
minated by the monks of St. Domenic, four hundred 
years ago. The black-letter is traced on fine vel- 
lum in characters three-quarters of an inch tall, and 
they are enormous folios. The custode showed us 
two of them, and it would have taken weeks to go 



IlETURXIXG TO ROME— SIENA. 515 

through them all, for we could merely glance at two. 
At last I sat down to try to sketch Raphael ; but the 
guard gave me no peace, and I only made an inef- 
fectual scratch. It will, however, recall the original 
attitude and action to myself. The floor is inlaid 
with mosaic — crescent moons in polished tiles. It 
is a glorious apartment, worthy of the Cathedral. 

October 10th. — We spent this Sunday morning at 
the Cathedral. The music was like the morning 
stars singing together, while the organ thundered in 
a grand undertone, and a soft flute-voiced human 
strain rose up, up into the dome, and through it, 
away to the heavens, reminding me of the Sistine 
Miserere. But it was not sad like that. It was 
triumphant with hallelujahs. Life seemed to ani- 
mate all the statues ; especially the wings of the 
angels waved as if for flight, while they held the 
vases of ever-burning lamps, in the choir. The saiots 
raised their hands and eyes with new ardor, and the 
wilderness of arches lifted themselves every moment 
like swelling billows of harmony, softly rolling. The 
Cathedral itself soared and sang. Little R. kept 
asking me " What does it say ?" and I replied, " It 
praises the Lord." The organ was not visible, and 
so the gorgeous temple seemed uttering itself through 
all its marble forms. We stayed till the service was 
over, and every one had gone, except the sacristan, and 
then the profound silence had also its own grandeur. 

In the afternoon, we walked to the Lizza with 



510 NOTES IN ITALY. 

the cliildren, to see tlie city from a promontory 
at the close of the avenue ; and Ada and I sat down 
on a bank to sketch. I drew the church of St. Do- 
menic and the Campo Tower, and the Cathedral roof 

and dome, and J was very earnest to do the same, 

but lost his sketch-book. 

October 11th. — To-day we went to St. Dominic 
to see Sodom a's frescoes. 

****** 

Kadicofani. 

October 13th. — "We left Siena at six o'clock this 
morning, and we have travelled about forty-five 
miles to this lofty wilderness, two thousand seven 
hundred and more feet high, " where vegetation 
almost ceases," says the guide-book. It was cloudy 
when we started, and rained hard in a short time ; 
but afterward cleared, and we had fine weather till 
the middle of the afternoon, when a pelting hail- 
storm came on, and clattered and poured furiously 
on our carriage roof for awhile. Finally a rainbow 
sprang over the sky before us, and the violet band 
was very distinct and beautiful, though it is usually 
faint ; and now, at eight o'clock, the new moon is 
shining. 

The first interesting place we passed was Buo- 
nonventOj a town crowned by a great castle, famous 
as the castle in which Henry the Seventh of Ger- 
many was supposed to be poisoned with tlie Host, 



BETURXIXG TO liOME—RADICOFANL 517 

by a monk : but I think it is incredible ; since the 
Host is believed to be the real body of Christ by all 
good Catholics — and to poison the body of Christ 
for the purpose of poisoning a man, is altogether too 
monstrous a thing to be believed. The castle extends 
widely, like a small city. We then drove through a 
very little but walled town, called Torrenieri. It con- 
sisted of but one narrow street and two towers, and I 
conjecture that, originally, the towers were alone ; but 
afterward, as usual, people who needed protection 
built their houses within the enclosure of their walls. 
We passed on to San Qaerico, where w^e had 
dejeune d la fourclieite, and remained two hours. It 
had a Gothic church, a huge palace built by the 
Piccolomini, perfectly square, and without comeli- 
ness ; and a tall castle of Roman work. We walked 
to the church, and found no interest inside, because 
repau's have spoiled it ; but it is picturesque out- 
side, and the two principal doors are very fine. One 
has columns composed of caryatids, figures of forci- 
ble expression, each standing on lions, which are 
quite grand. This door is ornamented with scu>[:)- 
tures of birds, animals, flowers, and arabesques. 
The other door has clustered columns, tied with a 
ribbon of marble, as it were, in a knot, each one 
resting on tigers, sporting wdth kids. There are 
lovely string-courses of sculpture round this also. 
We were surrounded by beggars and gazers as we 
stood to sketch ; but we had not time to get a com- 
plete drawing of any part. 



518 NOTES IN ITALY. 

The Emperor (mj sobriquet of our vetturino 
Costantino) ordered for us an abundant dejeune^ 
and we left the strange little town of San Querico 
just after noontide, with seven horses to our carriage, 
instead of the usual six (though sometimes we have 
but four), and came on to Radicofani. For hours 
we had seen, far off on the horizon, a bold and 
abrupt eminence, with a castellated summit, the 
castle having the exact outline of a double tooth, 
and the whole rock not unlike one, rising out of a 
plane of mountains. The tower is much below the 
lofty castle, which was once the residence of a rob- 
ber-chieftain, and later was garrisoned with lawful 
soldiers, till it was jarred to ruin by the explosion 
of a powder-magazine near it, and has since lain in 
decay. It is the wildest, rudest culmination of the 
most desolate portion of the country, possible to 
conceive. There seems to have been a battle of 
giants ; for the barren land is covered with great 
rocks and boulders tossed about, and a sort of dry 
stubble drearily fills the spaces. Round the base 
of the steep cliff upon which the castle stands, clings 
the stone town. The hotel is at a much lower level, 
and is a vast palatial building, formerly a hunting- 
palace of the Grand Duke of Tuscany. Over great 
arches which make the ground- plan, is a wide log- 
gia, also arched in its whole length. We ascended 
a broad staircase, leading from the court, into a 
vast saloon, and out of that we were guided along a 
broad, high corridor to our apartments. Large 



J^ETUnXIXG TO ROME—RADICOFAXL 519 

coiiclies and tables are placed against the walls on 
each side the corridor. When dinner was ready, 
we went down-stairs, through a lobby, on one side 
of which is the kitchen. A roaring fire of logs 
looked very warm and inviting there, for we were 
cold in this elevated situation. Dinner was served 
in a saloon frescoed with grapevines, owls perched 
on the trellises, and birds flying through them. It 
is the most rambling, ghostly, endless, fearful house 
I was ever in. The wind howling round, the im- 
mense distances in the rooms, which swallow up the 
candle-light, the fierce bandit-looking man who 
comes to ask us what we want, the old witches who 
arrange the beds, all combine to compose a resi- 
dence that I could not live in without going mad 
or melancholy. 

Immediately after our arrival, we went out to visit 
the city above. A perfectly straight road from the 
hotel climbs up to it. But when we were half-way, 
I saw a pelting shower hastening over the moun- 
tains, and I ran back to the hotel to escape drown- 
ing, while J and his father kept on their course. 

Finding the rain did not reach so far as Radicofani, 
I tried again, and got up into the town — alas ! such 
a dirty, horrid place ! I had wished very much to 
wash Siena, but it would have been useless to at- 
tempt to cleanse this. The streets were so narrow, 
I could almost stretch across them, and they were 
crowded with men, women, and children, and don- 
keys. A shabby little fellow accosted me, and 



530 NOTES IK ITALY. 

asked if I wished to see " una bellissima cliiesa." 
I told liim that all I wished was to find a gentleman 
and a boy who had come up a few moments before. 
Did he know where they were? He said he had 
seen them, and would lead me to them ; for they 
were in the church. So I toiled along in the dusk, 
everybody making way for me in the most cour- 
teous, graceful manner, but taking their fill of 
gazing at the strange lady. The child took me to 
the church, and we lifted the door-curtain, and were 
lost in the gloom of the nave. I went about, prying 
into the dark for my people, simply believing the 
tale I had been told. It was the Ave Maria, and 
the floor was full of praying folk ; and now and 
then a twinkle of a candle could be discerned in 
some chapel. What, after all, would these poor, 
ignorant people do without their open churches, 
where they can go and pray at stated hours in per- 
fect faith — in the midst of all their squalor and 
hopelessness in regard of earthly weal ? It seems 
to be the only thing they have to raise them an 
instant out of the mire. They could not compre- 
hend an invisible Deity, perhaps, but they can 
worship the Virgin and the Crucifix, which they see 
before their eyes. They must have symbols. 

It finally struck me that the little Radicofinian 
had told me a fib, so as to get me into the church 
and earn some crazie. I therefore rushed out again, 
and came home another way, instead of grazing 
through the intolerable streets, where I could with 



RETURNING TO ROME—VITERBO. 521 

great difficulty avoid contact with citlier donkeys or 
my fellow-creatures, neither of whom were agree- 
able to the senses, though the latter had beautiful 
eyes and perfect lines to their noses, as well as 
polite manners. 

I came round the hill, down a road that winds 
into the straight ascent from the hotel. The boy 
kept at my side, and a little girl joined him, each 
begging for " qualchecosa" every minute. I had no 
small moneys, and told them so, and advised them 
to go home. They would not believe me, of course, 
for did they not find it easy to say what was not 
true ? but finally I said I certainly should give them 
nothing to-night or to-morrow. Then the boy 
stopped, though the girl came all the way into the 
court, like an inevitable fate. 

VlTERBO. 

October 14tli. — We left Kadicofani at six o'clock 
this morning, a golden morning, before sunrise. I 
must not omit, however, to record that last evening, 
at dinner, an old man came in and presented a 
printed paper to us, and a tray of medallions. They 
were made by the falling of the waters of the baths 
of San Felippo upon the moulds of medals or casts. 
These waters leave a precipitate which petrifies into 
fine impressions, semi-transparent, like alabaster, 
perhaps a little more opaque. The printed paper 
described and commended them. I bought two — 



522 NOTES IN ITALY. 

one of Pio Nono, and one of Yenus. It is a perfect 
likeness of tlie Pope, who has a sweet, benign 
countenance. 

We descended our mountain height through the 
gold of the dawn, the picture of the Robber's fast- 
ness making a grand outline on our left. The poor 
Abbot of Cluny, once imprisoned there by the re- 
no'SNmed Ghina di Tacco, the lawless knight, must 
often have gazed down our road with longing eyes. 
It is very funny to know that the slender diet he 
^vas put upon by his captor restored his broken 
health so effectually that he had no need of the 
baths, to which he was proceeding to recruit, when 
he was stolen and conveyed aloft. 

We soon entered the Papacy at Ponte Centino, 
where we had to present our passport and bribe the 
Dogana. For eighteen pauls we saved our luggage 
from invasion and bowled merrily on, with a flourish 
of whips, if not of trumpets ; for we had six hoises 
and a postilion, who was an artist in snappmg his 
whip, as well as the Emperor. They sounded like a 
line of muskets popping off. As Ave approached 
Acquapendente the country lost its barren, desolate 
character, and woods and vegetation enriched the 
landscape. We passed a very deep and green vale, 
above which the town towers, in a fine situation ; 
but we did not see any of the cascades which 
tumble into the vale at some seasons, and give the 
town its name. Alas, it is a very dirty city, though 
it has an abundance of water to wash itself with ; 



RETUnXIKO TO ROME—YITERBO. 523 

and once the Episcopal See was establislied there. 
But bishops do not necessarily make a city or a 
people clean, and priests and monks are sometimes 
causative of both spiritual and material defilement. 

After leaving Acquapendente (it is a pity that the 
acqua does not pour through the streets, instead of 
off the precipices), we began to see caves in the 
tufa rocks. They were old Etruscan tombs, and 
sometimes the shepherds live in them, for they were 
long since rifled of their treasures and their dead. 

We drove through San Lorenzo Nuovo, a brave, 
new place, built by the people who had to flee from 
the old San Lorenzo on account of the malaria. 
We soon came to the site of San Lorenzo Vecchio, 
and the ruins of a tower marks the spot where the 
Etruscan city stood. In the old wall that still sur- 
rounds it are very many sepulchres. We could look 
down into some of them, and I should have liked 
much to explore ; but the air is deadly thereabouts, 
though it looks as lovely and innocent as possible. 
The richest groves and meadows spread out from the 
shores of the beautiful great lake of Bolsena ; yet it 
is so pestilential, that no one dares to build a house 
for many miles, and though the shepherds tend their 
flocks in the pastures and on the banks, they never 
venture to sleep in the neighborhood. It seems so 
exquisitely fair and verdant that one would fancy it 
the first Eden ; but not a dwelling is on the land, 
and not a boat is on the wide expanse of water. All 
is still and alone, dead-alive. In the lake are two 



524 NOTES IN ITALY. 

islands. On one, the Queen of the Goths was mur- 
dered by her cousin, Theodosius. Leo X. used to 
go to the other to fish, for the lake was famous for 
its fish, especially its eels, and is now, I suppose, 
unless the water is also poison as well as the land. 
What a singular, voiceless curse is this mysterious 
malaria ! It waves its invisible sword, and cuts 
down all Avho approach within its reach. There is 
something appalling in its quiet, tyrannous sover- 
eignty. We fancied that the herdsmen were sickly 
in their aspects as we passed them along the shores 
of the lake, which was gleaming like the silver shield 
of Abdiel, leader of the heavenly hosts. 

We reached the town of Bolsena (Yolsinii), piled 
up on the acclivity of a hill. There is an upper 
and lower town, and our hotel was in a still lower 
position than either, all by itself. As soon as we 
alighted, we walked off to see the towns. No words 
can ever describe the disgustfulness of the streets 
and of the people. I do not think they ever touch 
water. We, of the other side of the Atlantic, have 
not the remotest idea how dirty a person can be, 
who has not been washed for nearly three thousand 
years ! This is the state of the Bolsenian, formerly 
the Volsinian. It is only in Europe that one can 
see a dirty face, and it is necessary to come to 
Europe to comprehend it. Description will not 
avail. Alas and alas ! we picked our way through 
infinite — no — finite abominations in the city once so 
luxurious and rich as to possess more than two 



BETUBNING TO ROME—VITERBO. 50.5 

thousand statues ! We wished to find traces of 
Etruscan art, and Roman art (for the Romans lived 
here, after conquering the Etruscans) ; and we found 
cohimns and arches, but our eyes and noses could 
not withstand the sights and odors many minutes. 
We found it to be a fancy of the Bolsenians to 
fasten their black hogs by one leg to the walls, and 
each hog burrowed for himself a hole, wherein he 
delighted to wallow when he was not eating. His 
food was placed around him. Through the centre 
of streets a yard or two wide, flowed a stream of 
horror. At one great palace-door we stood and 
looked into the hall. Human beings swarmed about 
it like noisome insects. It was bare and grimy, 
merely a shelter, while probably masterpieces of art 
once adorned it, in the far-off times. If it had been 
possible to endure the atmosphere, I should have 
liked to go up the regal stairway, and see the style 
and arrangements of the saloons ; but it could not 
be thought of. Nothing but an earthquake can 
destroy Etruscan work, and these stones are fixed 
for ages and ages ; so that the only thing to be done 
is to burn them out with fire, that everything perish- 
able might fall into ashes, and the walls become 
purified. But even the stones must be impregnated 
with evil, which could not be burnt out. It is a 
hopeless case ; and besides, the stealthy demon of 
malaria is stealing up the heights; and soon the 
people will all fall victims to it, and then " the 
abomination of desolation" will possess Bolsena, 



536 NOTES IN ITALY. 

*' But the cormorant and the bittern shall possess it ; 
the owls also and the ravens shall dwell in it, and 
He shall stretch out upon it the line of confusion, 
and the stones of emptiness : — none shall be there, 
and all her princes shall be nothing. And thorns 
shall come up in her palaces, nettles and brambles 
in the fortresses thereof ; and it shall be a habitation 
of dragons, and a court for owls." "And the glori- 
ous beauty which is on the head of the fat valley 
shall be a fading flower, and as the hasty fruit be- 
fore the summer." 

We climbed up innumerable steps to the castle, 
and its surrounding upper town. The castle is 
Roman, perhaps. It has square towers at each 
end, beautifully machicolated. After a painful ex- 
ploration, we descended by the side of the hill, 
along an avenue of trees, to the arched gate of the 
lower town ; for near this gate are very interesting 
ruins of an Etruscan temple to the goddess Norcia. 
There are capitals of columns and sepulchral monu- 
ments, forming quite a road from the gate outward. 
A double pillar, broken off, was very curious ; for 
one half differed fi'om the other. One half was 
square, and the other round ; one plain, and the 
other richly carved in leaves. One bit of column 
was delicately cut with a grapevine. Perhaps an 
earthquake toppled over this exquisite temple. I 
wish the ground could all be dug over, around the 
site ; for treasures may be hidden beneath the soil. 

After lunch we went out to sketch. I was soon 



ItETURNlNG TO ROME—YITERBO. 527 

beset with interested spectators — men, women, boys, 
girls, and babies in arms, all trying to look over my 
book. They were more nasty than I can by any 
means tell, with foulness inherited from the Romans 
probably, and at any rate very ancient. I could 
scarcely breathe such an atmosphere as they cre- 
ated, and armies of fleas attacked me besides. Yet, 
so potent is the human soul, that this beggarly crowd 
of Italians gave an impression of refinement and 
civilization, very old and settled civilization, by their 
manners and bearing. They were quiet and gentle 
and exceedingly courteous. They spoke in whis- 
pers, and were deeply interested in my work, from 
an innate love of art, woven into their members and 
being. Their glorious eyes (which were clean) shone 
with delight at every line I drew which they recog- 
nized as true. I sketched the castle and the town 
beneath it, and they called by mellifluous names 
each house and wall. I told them I liked their 
castle very much, and they repeated to each other 
with pride that I said so. How infinitely pathetic 
and wonderful that they should enjoy their old stones 
for their beauty, when they have them instead of 
bread and raiment — only stones ! I talked with them 
about my great interest in the city, and they re- 
sponded with intelligence. Whenever any one hap- 
pened to obstruct my view, the rest commanded him 
to move from the signora's eye, and a vista was kept 
for me most jealously all the time. I showed them 
a few other sketches in my book, and at the Campo 



538 NOTES IN ITALY. 

Tower of Siena they exclaimed, " O bellissima ! bel- 
lissima !" but always in subdued tones. Not one of 
them begged money. When I was obliged to leave 
off, because our hour of departure was come, they 
all stood aside in a crowd, four or five handsome 
boys on the outskirts, and as I cordially bade the 
beautiful, dirty creatures " addio," they smiled, and 
bowed, and waved their hands, like so many princes. 
Those who had little caps on their clustering hair 
raised them, and stood uncovered. It was wonderful. 

And there was the Emperor Coustantine leading 
little R. by the hand out of the gate of the lower 
town, her sunny goldness contrasting with his dark- 
ness in a most picturesque way ; for the vetturino is 
a man mounted with blackest ebony, in hair, eye- 
brows, moustache, and eyes, besides a swarthy skin. 
He is not tall, but he has an air of ease, and a smile 
like stormy lightning, and behaves in all waj^s as an 
emperor should, besides having the name of one. 

At half-past two we bade, I suppose, an eternal 
farewell to Volsinium or Yolsinii, and stretched to- 
ward Rome many a rood with our carriage and six 
horses. After a pretty long post, the domed city 
of Montefiascone suddenly burst upon us, very im- 
posing with its walls, towers, and duomo, high up 
upon a rock. We drove to the gate, and paused a 
few moments to look up its principal street ; but we 
did not enter, because we were to spend the night 
at Viterbo. I must not omit to chronicle that we 
passed marvellous basaltic formations — columns of 



BETURNINO TO ROME—VITERBO. 529 

perfect symmetry, and hexagonal as well as other 
'gonals, wliicli seemed to have been made by art, 
and then thrust into tlie earthy banks on the side of 
the road. Instead of standing up, they were lying 
horizontally, with their summits presented to us, 
like so many cannon placed for action. The love- 
Mest cyclamens also grew on the waj'sides — white, 
embroidered with pink — and rose-pink convolvuli. 
We arrived at Viterbo after five, and, while dinner 
was in preparation, walked through the town. It is 
stately, compared to the small cities we have lately 
passed through. On the way to the Cathedral we 
saw Roman arches, a sculptured sarcophagus, beauti- 
ful fountains, campaniles, a busy market-place, and 
soiled, though comfortably flat pavements. It was 
so dusky in the Cathedral that we could hardly see 
anything. Its campanile has lovely mullioned win- 
dows, and there is the ruin of a grand archiepiscopal 
palace on the right. 

At dinner we ordered some of the very famous 
Montefiascone wine, the Est, Est, Est. I do not 
know how to describe its etherial fire, unless I say it 
was like dissolved sweetened diamonds, — it had such 
a delicate, flashing, penetrating fierceness. It was 
ecstasy, keen, delicious, and flitting. It came in 
small flasks, for after the cork is drawn the tricksy 
spirit vanishes speedily — and the second glass has 
lost its piercing eflicacy. The poor Bishop was 
certainly much tempted ! 

This morning we went to the Cathedral again. 

23 



530 NOTES IN ITALY. 

There was a richly carved white marble vase for 
holy water, probably of Greek workmanship ; and 
an historically interesting high altar ; for it was at 
that altar that Prince Henry of England was mur- 
dered by Guy de Montfort, in stupid revenge for the 
murder of his father by the Prince's father. Then 
he dragged him by the hair of his head through the 
dust of the piazza, — the memorable piazza, in which 
Pope Adrian Fourth made Frederic Barbarossa hold 
the stirrup for him, while he mounted his horse, in 
revenge for the Emperor having made him ride with 
his face to his horse's tail. Such Christian forgive- 
ness practised the Head of the Church, the Vicar 
of Him who said, '* Forgive your enemies !" We 
sketched a little, and then went up into the Palace, 
and saw the vast hall, where the conclave of Cardi- 
nals sat for so long to elect a Pope, that the people 
finally took off the roof to hasten their decision. It 
is entirely empty now, not an atom of any man or 
furniture in it. A great door at one end led out to 
an open court, in which we found such a beautiful 
and stupendous vase (once a fountain), that we all sat 
down on the stone seats surrounding it, to take its 
likeness, little R. as well as the rest of us. It was 
circular in form, with superb lions' heads sculptured 
upon it. When the clear water was rising and fall- 
ing within its enormous margin, what an enchant- 
ment to sit in its music, and look out of an open 
arch of the wall at the loveliest view ! Afar, the 
pale blue mountains waved along the horizon. 



RETURNING TO R0ME—8ETTE VENE. 531 

Nearer, tlie city of Montefiascone crowned an emi- 
nence, topped by its dome and its towers. Nearer 
still were the picturesque walls of Viterbo, with tall 
turrets, wreathed with ivy ; and a great part of the 
town was heaped up beneath us — one stately, domed 
and towered church, the Chiesa dell' Eternita, emi- 
nent among all other buildings. We drew a turret 
of the wall, but there was not time to do much, as 
we were to leave Yiterbo at eleven. 

The sarcophagus that we had seen on our way 
in the street, by a church- door, contains the body of 
the most beautiful woman of Italy (in her time), so 
beautiful, that there was a battle fought for her by 
the Viterbans and the Romans, and the Viterbans 
gained the victory ; and this new Helen was shown 
to the conquered Romans, at their request, from a 
balcony, that they might have a parting gaze. 

" And so another Helen fired another Troy." 

Viterbo is the ancient Fanum Yolumnise, a place 
of assembly of the Etruscans ; and, in continuation, 
the Roman conclaves have often met there to choose 
Popes. The columns of the nave of the Cathedral 
are doubtless the same that adorned the Temple of 
Hercules, which stood on that site, and the superb 
marble vase must have also belonged to it. 

Sette Vene. 

October 15th. — We arrived at this pleasant spot 
before five o'clock. It is smooth meadow-land of a 



532 NOTES IN ITALY. 

lovely green, golden green, and the afternoon was 
so clear and quiet that every thing looked glorified. 
At each side of a broad road, slender trees stand, 
almost as spiritual in their appearance as the trees 
which Raphael and Perugino paint behind their 
Madonnas. No doubt, Mr. Ruskin, they copied 
nature in those trees which so exasperate you. 

The hotel is very rambling. There is but one 
interesting object in the spot that we knew about ; 
and that is an old Eoman bridge over the Treja, a 
sluggish stream. It should not, however, be called 
a stream, as it does not stir, but slumbers heavily in 

its mud. We went out to see it, while J and 

R. were off on the meadow with the Emperor. 
It was truly refreshing to stop at an inn not sur- 
rounded by a dirty town. All about there it looked 
as if it had been clean and nice since creation. We 
found the beautiful old one-arched bridge in a field, 
close by a new bridge, now erected in a more direct 
line with the highway. I made a sketch on the 
spot ; for it is as picturesque and perfect as an old 
arched bridge can be ; and there is a marvellous 
charm in all Roman work, partly from its being so 
well done, and partly from its being Roman. How 
astonishing it is that Rome should still rule the 
world — not by its Pope — he is a mere puppet ; but 
by an impalpable, indescribable power of classical 
association, and an irresistible recognition of its 
sovereignty. Not all her monstrous sin and crime 
can displace the right royal pre-eminence of the 



RETURNmO TO ROME—SETTE VENE. rj;3:3 

Queen of Nations. Hoav long lier Might socmcd 
HigLt ! No longer ruling peoples externally, liow she 
still rules them through the imagination and intel- 
lect ! Among all Byron's really inspired utterances 
about Italy, no one is more exactly true, than his 
calling Home " the city of the soul." The yellow 
waters of the Tiber look as if the sins of Helioga- 
balus had dissolved in them, when he was thrown 
into it ; and yet the Tiber is the imagination's dear- 
est river, and flows through the mind as pure as a 
mountain torrent, lucid as air. What a world of 
delight one loses here, who has not classical memo- 
ries ! How precious to one is one's Yirgil and Ovid 
and Caesar, and Livy and Tacitus, and even Viri 
E,om?e ! and what must be the enjoyment of the 
profound scholar and archaeologist, to whom every 
stone tells an immortal story ! I wish no one would 
come to Home before reading and studyiDg all that 
poets and historians have sung and written about 
it, for then their profit and pleasure will be increased 
a thousand-fold. 

But I have wandered away from my bridge. It 
was not very safe to stand over the still water to- 
ward sunset in this malaria region, and so I did not 
finish the sketch, but returned to the hotel. The 
Emperor was making a picture of himself, Ij'ing 
on a low parapet, with his dark face and ebony 
trimmings relieved against a clear, gold sunset, 
while his dog capered over him ; and R. stood 
watching the group and the fun. He lifted his 



534 NOTES IN ITALY. 

dark-green little cap from his black locks as we 
approached. 

We took the children into the hotel, out of the 
dangerous twilight ; and now I must note down our 
drive to-day. 

It was after eleven before we left Yiterbo, not very 
pleasantly ; for the waiter wished for higher fees than 
we paid him, though we had given him as much as 
had contented every other waiter on our route. But 
perhaps because he was a w^aiter in " The Imperial 
Hotel of the Black Eagle," he thought he ought 
to have more than a servant in an inn in a smaller 
city than Yiterbo. As he was the most inattentive 
and discourteous of all the waiters who had served 
us, I would not give way to his importunity ; and it 
made the Emperor very sad to go off under such a 
cloud. He lost his spirits entirely, and did. not 
snap his whip, nor coo to his horses, nor talk to B. 

and J , both of whom were on the box with him, 

while Mr. H. and I were in the coiqje behind them. 
He was relieved when I told him that the waiter 
was surly and careless ; though it took a great 
many miles to disperse the depression of his mind ; 
and it was really pleasant when he commenced his 
extraordinary sounds again. For the Italian vettu- 
rino not only coos to his steeds, but grunts and 
groans to them : yet not either of those ; but a sound 
one would make if a nail were thrust suddenly into 
one — a sort of " ugh," as if he were sympathizing 
with their efforts to tug along. The Emperor is 



RETURNING TO ROME—SETTE VENE. 535 

YCYj generous — open-lianded, — wliicli was one cause 
of his distress that the Signora should seem other- 
wise. He gives to the beggars, and pays harge fees 
to our postilions, and shows a great nature in every 
way. For his sake I wished I had paid more pauls ; 
but on no other account, for it was not just. It 
was good to see his care of the children. He 
wrapped E. in shawls, and put his own thick mantle 

behind for her and J to lean against, and amused 

them with his discourse to his horses, and with the 
extraordinary musketry of his enormous whip. He 
gracefully accepted little R.'s offering of two grapes 
in a cup made of a big chestnut-shell. He compre- 
hended instantly the piquante fun of the thing, and 
his face flashed with the stormy lightning of the 
smile (aforementioned), and his manner was as 
finished as a cavalier's. He also received from me 
some cigars, which he woidd not smoke on the box, 
till he had asked whether it would be offensive to 
the Signora. When he alighted to walk up the 
steep hills, he often took down R. at her request, 
and trudged along with her, holding her little white 
hand in his huge brown one ; while she was as meek 
as a lamb, quite adoring him. When he had recov- 
ered his spirits this morning, he resumed his inter- 
course with the children, and his cordial deep-voiced 
"Si, Signora," "Si, Signore," were reviving to hear 
again — with the accompaniment of a beam from his 
lustrous eyes. 

He put J on one of the leaders of our horse- 



536 NOTES IN ITALY. 

power, when the postilion was off, to please him with 
riding for a few minutes, pretending to drive full 
speed, and taking the real postilion on the box, for 
a change. In every way he was genial and also 
creative, carrying a sense of power with him ; a 
much higher order of person than our rustic old 
Gaetano, also good and kind, however. I dare say 
the Emperor thought us rather scrimping to the 
waiter of the Imperial Hot^l, and therefore he felt 
that unease which a generous person always feels 
when he thinks there is any meanness around him. 
But after my remark about the Yiterban, he settled 
his thoughts and feelings, and comforted himself, 
as he saw no other sign of close bargaining. 

Now we came in sight of a small and lovely lake, 
the Lago di Yico, and a mangificent panorama 
spread out before us. The lovely lake, almost sur- 
rounded by dense, rich woods, but at our height 
(3,000 feet above sea-level) quite revealed in its 
pale, gleaming beauty, lay below us, very near. 
Far beyond, stretched in every dii^ection a vast 
plain, commingling all soft tints of green, melting 
into bluish tones near the mountain ranges : on 
the horizon, the entire chain of the Apennines, the 
Alban hills, and the remotest Volcian line. The 
vast plain was the ever-memorable Campagna, 
wearing an air of innocence and peace, yet holding 
beneath its emerald turf the mysterious talons of 
death for those who were beguiled to its charms. 
*'Lone Soracte's height," precisely like a mighty 



RETURNING TO ROMESETTE VENE. 537 

" wind-swept wave," rose immediately from tlie level 
land, " pausing in its curl," as if suddenly turned to 
stone. It is only on this road from Florence tliat 
Byron's perfect truthfulness of figure can be appre- 
ciated ; for it was the route he followed. So im- 
mense is the Campagna, and the distances and our 
elevation also, that Soracte did not appear very high 
as we looked dow^n upon it. It was not till we 
approached nearer to it that the remoter mountains 
no longer overtopped it. But in all relations or in 
any relation it is a grand object, rushing up in a 
curve from the wide plain. I have a pencil-sketch, 
but the turquoise sky, the emerald turf with its 
tourmaline changes, and the golden air taking ame- 
thystine tints on the remoter hills — these I cannot 
sketch. And the vastness, the poetry, the history, 
the fascination cannot be sketched. They cannot 
be put into the nib of a diamond-pointed pen, nor 
into the finest camel' s-hair pencil. These all per- 
sons must come and see and feel. 

The azure lake holds down in its depths the city 
of Succiuium, swallowed up by a convulsion of na- 
ture long ago, like so many other Italian cities, and 
the water takes the place of the former crater of a 
volcano. Ancient writers say that, on a clear day, 
one can see the domes and towers of the city at the 
bottom of the lake. Why not? If I were the 
Pope I would drain off the water and find my city. 
It might reveal even antediluvian secrets and treas- 
ures. How short-sighted and dull are Popes, to put 

23* 



538 NOTES IN ITALY. 

into their tiaras the millions that might be spent in 
draining seas away from drowned kingdoms ! 

But I was not thinking of Popes, as " I drank the 
beauty of that spectacle" this morning ; for though 
Home can sometimes be seen from that point of 
view, yet I did not then see it, and I suppose the 
purple mists blurred it out of the landscape. 

We passed through the old town of Eoncigiione, 
placed on a rock, clustering round a castle as usual, 
with a rich dell on one side. As we drove along we 
saw ruined palaces, and many relics of grandeur, 
but all dilapidated and begrimed. An Etruscan 
city once stood there, and there were sepulchral 
chambers in the sides of the ravine. With what a 
carefulness men buried their dead in the ancient 
times ! What efforts to countervene the Eternal 
word that we must return to dust, and what tender 
love for the deserted body ! Now it is too much the 
reverse here. In Home there is something frightful 
in the way the dead are disposed of, unless it be a 
dead prince or millionaire. 

Between Bonciglione and Monterosso I thought 
B. had better go inside the carriage, and, looking in, 
we found that Ada and U. were not there. Mr. H. 

and J hastened back to search for them, for it was 

impossible to turn round a carriage and horses that 
reached nearly from one post to another. B. and I 
drove slowly on to Monterosso, and drew up there 



RETURNING TO ROME—SETTE VENE. 539 

in its one narrow street to wait. In half an hour they 
came to us. 

At Monterosso the air was black with flies, which 
tumbled about my hands and face in heaps. A 
really clean man stood at the door of a cafe, by the 
side of a comfortable-looking prelate, in fine broad- 
cloth. Otherwise I could see nothing clean there. 
But at the end of the vista of the street opened out 
the campagna and the mountains. There certainly 
are disadvantages in building eternities of stone 
houses, which cannot decay, so that the grime of 
Eons remains. If they were wood they would now 
and then be burnt ; but, as it is, there is nothing for 
them but to be swallowed up like Succinium. How 
easy it is to see the cause of depopulating plagues 
in these foul old towns, so pressed into a mass, 
and cleanliness and godliness having centuries ago 
taken flight together, leaving not even their idea be- 
hind ! Every one of them needs a Hercules to its 
Augean stables. It would take a demigod's nose, 
at least, to endure such odors as vilify their atmos- 
pheres, and a hand powerful enough to turn the 
Mediterranean in upon them. Faugh ! for Monte- 
rosso ; and faugh-er for Bolsena, where the people 
had nothing clean but their eyes. I wish I could 
cease to speak on this subject. 

Here, at Sette Vene, however, it is very nice, be- 
cause there are no houses except the hotel, and no 
people to be seen. This night is of a clearness that 
no person can conceive who lives anywhere else than 



olO NOTES m ITALY. 

in Italy or Syria. The stars do not sliine pretty 
brightly : they pierce the pellucid air with diamond 
rays in a glow of splendor wonderful to behold. 
Jupiter is like a wheel of prisms, each spoke a living 
beam, restlessly burning, and each one of a different 
hue, but changing one into the other in a lovely con- 
fusion of crimson, violet, and gold, as if it were a 
bonfire of jewels, blazing with a beautiful fierceness. 
Jupiter bears the palm ; but there is every degree of 
glory from that to lesser dignities. The half-moon 
also shines without the thinnest veil over the dazzle 
of her radiance. And this is the atmosphere of the 
fatal Campagna. 




V. 

EOME. 

October 18tli. 
We left Sette Yene on the 16th, and soon arrived 
on the nearest rim ol an enormous crater of an ex- 
tinct volcano, several miles in diameter. In the 
centre is the small town of Baccano, so called from 
a temple to Bacchus once standing there. We 
passed through it, and when we mounted the farther 
edge, then at last we saw Bome afar off, its towers, 
pinnacles, and the Dome — which, however, at such a 
distance was not so proudly pre-eminent as it be- 
came on nearer approach. I felt a keen delight at 
seeing again the city of cities. It was a singular 
sense of going home that I had, a sense, too, that 
everything was there, in the dream-city, as it looked 
in the pale mist that half veiled it and its lovely sea 
of mountains beyond and around. On my mind it 
had risen in stupendous grandeur before I left Flor- 
ence, looming up far over all other places inhabited 
by man. I can now understand the irresistible at- 
traction it has to those who return a second time, 
and how it must become a sort of necessity of the 



543 NOTES IN ITALY. 

soul to live here — either to remain or constantly to 
return. 

All have been out to walk excepting myself, and 
all testify to the surprising stateliness and majesty of 
the temples, palaces, and piazzas, so that now they 
seem first really to see Rome. I have yet to experi- 
ence this. Now I go back. We bade the Emperor 
bring his horses to a pause on the outer rim of the 
crater, so that those of us within the carriage might 
alight and see the whole circle of mountains, and the 
broad expanse of Campagna at one glance. Costan- 
tino took off his cap and said, " Eoma !" for he is a 
Roman, and probably felt exultant at seeing it again. 

J gave a shout, and then we all gazed in silence 

for some time. I thought I saw the tower which 
marks the site of Corioli, which brought to mind 
that heroic story of Coriolanus as Shakspeare ren- 
ders it. I tried to find the place of Veii, and of other 
renowned old cities, all wiped off the plain by the 
terrible and desolating hand of Rome, who grasped 
every body and thing, and drew into itself what it 
wanted of them, and pitilessly destroyed all the rest 
utterly. Its power of appropriation, doubtless, ex- 
ceeded that of any other known state. It builded 
with the world's best architects, adorned itself with 
the world's masterpieces in the arts, and fought 
with yie world's strongest and bravest. Wherever 
it would go, it constructed such roads that time has 
no effect upon them, with the skilfullest heads and 
hands that the conquered world could furnish. 



ROME. 543 

Genius, Beaiitj, Efficiency — wherever the Imperial 
Eagle could see them — were pounced upon and 
swooped up into the possession and service of this 
absorbing domination. I well remember, as a 
youthful student, how the Koman legions, with 
which I always sided and fougiit, seemed to me 
the sole rightful victors, so fascinating to the 
imagination is success. I then devoutly believed 
that a Roman was a cunning composition of per- 
fect honor, bravery, and virtue (not virtue in a Latin 
meaning, but Christian). I thought a Roman never 
ate, or rather I did not think of his eating. I sup- 
posed he lived on glory, a kind of whip syllabub 
which I now know could never make sinews. The 
Conscript Fathers stood with me for all majesty, 
patriotism, and wisdom. A sort of diffused Julius 
Caesar perpetually dictated to the known world. 
Roman matrons were ideal womanhood, " without 
suspect." My eyes were holden, so that I could not 
see the sin or the shame ; or a prism was over them, 
through which the Empire flashed Avith the seven 
colors with which light paints rainbows. I review 
history now, and perceive the truth better, and the 
six thousand crucified men of Crassus, whom it 
pleased him to put in agony all at the same moment, 
would forever throw into black eclipse my flashing 
Empire, were no other of its countless crimes to be 
brought into the account. Yet history might never 
have destroyed my fancies, if I had not come to 
Rome. Here I both feel how it all was, and, strange 



oU XOTES Zy ITALY. 

to say, I am also magnetized with tlie power tliat 
hovers invisibly in this air, like the spirit of the 
eagle that never stooped in the hand of the Roman 
standard-bearer. What, then, is this Rome that 
zcill hold sway over mankind, whether or no, in past 
and present time ? I have an idea, but it is folded 
up in a veil, and I cannot take this moment to 
answer my question. 

So we paused, and gazed from the edge of the 
Crater, in profound silence, upon the silvery vision 
of sovereign Rome, reposing alone in the midst of 
the vast desolation it has made ; and, in return for 
slain millions, receiving, for poetically just guerdon, 
the fatal breath of this malaria, which, it is said, will 
eventually make the city itself uninhabitable. I 
thought of this ; but yet I exulted, with all my heart, 
that I w^as again looking upon it, and again hasten- 
ing to it. 

The Emperor broke my spell by suddenly asking 
if he might drive on, and, with a salvo of small ar- 
tillery fi'om his whip, we nished forward, J de- 
claring that " the horses knew they were going to 
Rome, and pricked up theu' ears and struck out 
accordingly." We were, indeed, all so glad that I 
think the very carriage must have sympathized, to 
say nothing of the generous steeds. We saw soli- 
tary towers in the plains, and short, stout columns 
that seemed eternal memorials of some events, of 
such a girth, that, with their rounded tops, I am 
sure Time may try at them in vain, till Time shall be 



ROME. 515 

no longer. If fire can dissolve stone, earth's central 
lieart might liquefy them, were they swallowed up by 
an earthquake. Otherwise, they stand forever. We 
passed the traditional tomb of Nero, whose piteous, 
wretched death always makes me feel unhappy when 
it is brought to mind, and even makes me wish to 
forgive and solace him. What a hell he suffered in 
those moments ! He certainly atoned for all his 
sins, while he listened to the tramp of those horses, 
at the same time in mortal, cowardly fear of his own 
sword. 

Seven miles from Eome, at a sudden turn, St. 
Peter's burst upon us with perfect distinctness, very 
grand, and brought me back from classic Rome and 
its horrors and enchantments for awhile. Many 
lesser domes and campaniles came to view, but no 
Coliseum and Claudian arches on this side. We 
crossed the Ponte Molle, very memorable for the 
battle between Constantine and Maxentius, fouglit 
upon and near it, when it was the Milvian bridge. 
Hereabouts in the Tiber, still lies imbedded the 
seven-branched golden candlestick brought by Titus 
from Jerusalem — a likeness of which we see sculp- 
tured on his triumphal arch. Then we proceeded 
along the Flaminian Way, into the Porta del Popolo, 
and paused half an hour at the Dogano, duriug 
which time I joyfully greeted the oldest obelisk in 
the world, which Moses looked upon in Egypt ; now 
standing in the centre of the piazza, with its fountain 
and four lions, uttering continual ye^5 d'eau. 



546 NOTES IX ITALY. 

Tlience we drove to oiu' apartments in the Piazza 
Poli. 

I must not close my notes of ti-avel without ex- 
pressing how perpetual wonder and admii-ation were 
excited in me by the superb roads over which we 
drove in both routes. Not a roughness or break in 
the smooth marmoreal sui'faces from one end to the 
other. Xot one single jar in all the miles we have 
voyaged, excepting the jar on the paved Cassian 
TTay, inevitable over actual stones, how smooth so- 
ever they may be. We went to not one intolerable 
inn even in the smallest town ; and I can conceive 
of no more delectable mode of exploration than this 
vettura plan. 

"We hii'e a private carriage built for such uses. 
The body of it is hke a piivate coach, with seats 
inside for four persons. Ours was larger, nicer, and 
easier than usual. In front is a comfortable coupe 
for two, open to all the prospect, but capable of 
being entfrelv closed fr'om rain or wind bv a skil- 
fully-contrived glass folded window, that can be let 
down when desired. Still in front of the coupe is the 
vetturino's box, which is large enough for two per- 
sons ; and the stout Emperor, J , and E., all sat 

together on it sometimes. At the summit of this 
large building is a mighty receptacle for bags and 
all '' piccola roba," and behind it safe and ample 
harborage for tninks and clumsy luggage ; and be- 
neath is a suspended tray or large basket for dogs, 
or other pet beasties, to rest in — or for any " roba" 



ROME. 647 

that can take dust and shaking. Over all the lug- 
gage are canopies of india-rubber and leather against 
wet, and inside the carriage are bands or straps of 
leather net-work, for shawls and umbrellas, and 
books and knick-knacks for constant use, affixed to 
the roof, and pockets at the sides. Plenty of room 
also in the coupe and under the vetturino's box for 
carpets and sacks. Fancy all this, drawn along by 
six and sometimes seven horses stretching out be- 
fore, often with two oxen in addition for steep hills ! 
Then we make a written contract with the vetturino, 
that he shall order our meals and apartments of 
suitable quality at all the inns; and, besides being 
our commissary of provisions and rooms, we make 
him our purser — all this for a certain amount agreed 
upon. Thus we have no care, no bills, no bargain- 
ing, and no imposition. The vetturino is our coach- 
man, our major-domo, and our steward, and strives 
to do well for the sake of the huon memo at the end, 
which varies with his behavior. It is the most com- 
plete system, especially with men so remarkable as 
ours were, and all goes merry from morn to dewy 
eve. The only payment we make is to the table- 
w^aiters, and the Yiterban was the only one who gave 
us any annoyance. I cannot conceive of a more 
charming way of travelling, especially when one can 
have an emperor like our Costantino, or a good old 
Gaffer like Gaetano for master of ceremonies. We 
write in the contract what places, and for how long, 
we wish to stop at, and thus have everything fixed 



548 NOTES IN ITALY. 

our own way. Those persons who care for very 
dainty and peculiar dishes prefer to order their own 
meals ; but they have much trouble, and are obliged 
to spend precious time discoursing with innkeepers, 
besides being obliged to pay thrice as much as the 
vetturino pays for sufficient and excellent food, quite 
satisfactory to lovers of art and landscape, rather 
than of Apician feasts. 

October 20th. — This morning to the Palazzo Cor- 
sini, whose gallery we did not once visit last winter. 
We went into Saint Andrea delle Palle, on the way 
to see Domenichino's frescoes. The church stands 
on the site of. the Curia of Pompey, where Caesar 
feU. 

At the four corners of the dome are the four 
Evangelists, reminding one of Michel Angelo's pro- 
2)hets. There is wonderful fire and tone in their 
expression, and lovely little cherubs surround them. 
In one compartment are several of these baby-forms 
playing with a lion as with a pet-dog or a kitten. 
That prophecy of Christian love and i:)eace has not 
yet been fulfilled ; but the genius of Domenichino 
presents it hourly here for consideration and imita- 
tion. It is amazing how slow we are, though the 
divinest forms, in marble and color, forever speak to 
the eye, in all degrees of beauty and truth ; and 
incredible it is that where these most abound, there 
seems not to be more of the spirit and practice of 
good than in less favored lands. In Italy, architec- 



HOME. 



549 



ture, sculpture, painting, music, all do tlieir utmost. 
Thousands of Gothic pinnacles and arches point to 
heaven. On every church-wall Christ dies for us — 
is mocked and scourged, and bears his Cross, and 
also rises in glory. To his written words we do 
not listen, and to his pictured life and ideas men 
are blind, though they blaze in splendor on every 
side. 

P. S. — ]My journal was suddenly interrupted by illness — even 
in the midst of a sentence, and was never resumed ; wliich will 
account for the abruptness of the close. 








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